


another kind of green

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.Little does she know, she already is.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 424
Kudos: 463





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xHookedonKillianx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHookedonKillianx/gifts).



> This is part of my follower fic giveaway, and it's based on the two-trope game of ["accidentally married + forgotten first meeting"](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com/post/187351454165/hi-love-for-the-trope-mash-up-it-was-quite) 💕I have worked it out as much as possible for the marriage to be legitimate, but, you know, this is fanfic, and I kind of expect you guys to roll with me for the sake of fun and entertainment, haha.

“So, what am I doing?”

“It’s a wedding convention,” Mary Margaret explains as she pulls the threads to button Emma into her dress, “and part of it is having wedding vendors watch a fake wedding so they can see what to do and what not to do and how a wedding should flow.”

“That’s a real thing? And you signed me up to work it?”

“It’s a real thing. Did you not read the package I sent you when I emailed you your contract?”

“Marg, you’ve been my agent for five years. I usually just trust what you say.” The dress squeezes Emma, and her breath stutters. Damn this dress is tight. How is she supposed to stay in this all day? How do actual women do this? And pay money to do this? The whole wedding industry is some kind of hoax. “Plus, this pays, like, three thousand dollars with a free trip to Vegas. I saw that and didn’t really care what exactly I had to do for it.”

Emma knows that Mary Margaret it probably rolling her eyes and that she has a lecture on the tip of her tongue about Emma reading her contracts, but it’s nothing Emma hasn’t heard before. It’s the former teacher in Mary Margaret, but this is why Emma has her in the first place. She takes care of all things business, and all Emma does is show up for fittings – usually wedding dresses but occasionally regular clothes for boutiques to put on their websites or Instagram pages – and photoshoots. It’s a good arrangement that Emma doesn’t plan on changing until she has to, but that’s not going to be anytime soon. This is good money, and she’s not stupid enough to pass up on a good thing when those have been all too rare in her life.

“We’ve got an hour until you have to be in the ballroom downstairs. I’ll read the guidelines to you as you get your hair pinned back because you’re going to need to know the flow of the wedding since you’re supposed to stay in character as a loving bride for the entire day. I do mean _loving_ , Emma. You have to smile nearly the entire time. You’re going to have to kiss this man too, okay?”

“Wait, what?”

Mary Margaret’s sigh is the loudest Emma has ever heard it.

-/-

It turns out that Emma definitely needed to read the packet (at least more than an hour before the job) detailing what exactly her job today was going to be, and she swears to herself that she’ll do it next time she’s not doing a simple photoshoot.

(She won’t, but she really should.)

There are lines that Emma has to say, and there’s a minute-by-minute schedule of where she’s supposed to be standing and what she’s supposed to be doing. It’s basically an acting job, and while that isn’t really Emma’s thing, she can do it. She’s always been able to easily memorize things, a habit she picked up growing up not knowing how long she’d be allowed to use the computer or have a book in whatever shitty foster home she was in, and she’s almost got this fake wedding thing down.

Fake pictures with bridesmaids.

Fake wedding ceremony.

Fake pictures with her fake husband.

Fake reception.

Fake everything.

She doesn’t have enough friends to be going to actual weddings every other weekend, which is good for her bank account, but she’s been working in the wedding industry for long enough and seen one too many romantic comedies to know how most of this works. Pretending to be a bride for more than an hour or two might be a different story since she apparently has to keep her smile the entire time.

God, her jaw hurts just thinking about it. 

Mary Margaret hands her off to the director for the day, some peppy woman with red hair and the brightest smile she’s ever seen, and Emma is quickly shuffled to a back room where she’s given directions that should take an hour to give in under a minute. Damn that woman can talk.

She’s also introduced to her husband for the day.

He’s standing in the opposite corner of the room, dressed in a perfectly fitted blue tuxedo with a matching bowtie, and she sees his biceps flex when he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s got a sharp jawline that’s covered in black scruff that’s a lighter shade than the hair on his head that’s swooped to the side, and he’s got the bluest eyes Emma has ever seen.

Damn.

Basically, he’s a model like all of the other models she works with on a regular basis, and as attractive as he is, she’s used to it. She’s definitely never going to see the guy again because while they’re in Vegas for the convention, she lives in Boston, and from the deep timber of his possibly British accent, she imagines he is based out of London or New York or something.

Killian is his name. He mentions his last name, but then the director, Anna, Emma thinks, is tugging them away to different places to start the wedding so that she doesn’t hear it well enough to remember it.

Oh, well, she’s got a fake wedding to attend.

-/-

Being a fake bride is a damn good time.

Remembering her lines and her cues is more difficult than she thought it would be, if only because she learned it all at the last minute, but once the actual ceremony is finished and they get to move onto the reception, everything is great. There’s drinking and dancing (her fake groom is a damn good dancer, and while she expected them to sway back and forth for the first dance, she thinks it might have been an actual dance like the waltz or something) and more drinking. Emma doesn’t even really like champagne, but when she’s given free champagne on the job, she’s going to take it.

She’d be dumb to pass that up, right?

Right.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, walking up to her at their head table where she’s snagging one of the appetizers off the plate, “they want us back out dancing.”

“Are you serious?” she mumbles, mouth full of a crab cake.

“Apparently none of these vendors have seen a couple dancing at a wedding.”

Emma huffs and grabs another crab cake. “Well, take me away sailor.”

Killian grabs her hand, warm and rough fingers so unlike most guys in the industry pressing into her skin, and tugs her along into the small group of people who are moving to the music. Emma’s not sure if they’re also models or actors or whatever or if they’re legitimately just the wedding vendors attending the event, but she doesn’t really care. So she wraps her arms around Killian’s neck as he puts his hands on her hips and tugs her closer until their bodies are completely pressed together as the music continues to play over the speakers.

But then the music is changing to something a bit faster, and Emma is pulling back from him while still staying close, making sure that their bodies are continuously pressed together. She’s not in a club or a bar, and she’s not nearly drunk enough to be grinding down on someone she doesn’t know, but she’s in a wedding dress at her fake wedding. When else is she going to get a chance to do this?

(Almost every other day at her job, but that’s decidedly beside the point.)

(And she’s usually not dancing. Just wearing a wedding dress.)

(Her life is too much and too strange if she takes the time to think about it.)

Besides, Killian is hot. In her mind, she can’t think of any other way to describe him, especially when his hands are pressing against her waist and he’s rolling his hips into her ass and his breath is hot in her ear as he laughs and keeps speaking words that seem to roll into each other as the conversation keeps flowing. She could listen to his accent forever.

It’s not going to be forever, though, because when they’re told that they’re finished with their job and stripped out of the expensive dress and tailored tux and put back into the clothes they showed up in this morning, the night seems to be winding down to its natural end.

Until, that is, Killian takes her hand once more, asks her if she’d like to go up to his room for another drink, and Emma says yes, thinking to herself that it’s definitely going to be a one-time thing. She’ll never see him again, never have to look into his eyes or hear his voice, and nothing is going to keep her from sleeping with the hot guy she’s spent all day pretending to be in love with.

She’s not in love, though, but that doesn’t keep her from hotly pressing her mouth to his as they walk through the hotel’s hallway, the both of them stopping in their tracks to take a few moments to press each other up against a wall on the way to his hotel room. She doesn’t know how long it takes to get there, especially since they seem to keep getting distracted and wander into new places, but Emma doesn’t care. She doesn’t care because his scruff feels deliciously perfect brushing up against her thigh, and she doesn’t care because he’s warm and thick, stretching her and filling her, when he slides in and presses down on top of her. She doesn’t care because even though she knows they’re both only doing this as a way to scratch an itch, this is a damn good night.

Her fake husband is going to make some other woman very lucky on their real wedding night, but for now, that’s not something she’s going to think about.

For now, this pleasure is all hers.

His too, if his words are any real indication.

(They definitely are.)

-/-

“What am I doing today?”

“You have dress fittings for the summer catalog of dresses.”

“How? It’s literally August. How can it be time for the summer catalog of dresses again?”

Mary Margaret sighs on the other end of the phone. One day she’s most definitely going to drop Emma as a client and a friend and return to teaching because Emma can never quite seem to get her shit together on how the wedding industry works. She’s already prepping herself for the same lecture that she’s heard at least twenty times by now.

“People plan their weddings months to years in advance, Emma. This is actually a late photoshoot. I think they want the pictures up on the website by next month, so you cannot miss this appointment.”

“Have I ever missed an appointment, Marg?”

“Yes, remember when – ”

“That was one time,” Emma interrupts, rolling over on her mattress and getting out of bed. If she doesn’t do it now, she never will. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s at ten, okay? Ask for Ashely.”

“Are you not coming?”

“I’ve got a shoot with Ruby. I figured you can handle a fitting by yourself.” There’s a short pause. “You can handle a fitting by yourself, can’t you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“Then stop acting like such a mom.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah, well, when you don’t have a mom…”

“Emma.”

“Sorry,” Emma spits out, wanting to change the conversation as quickly as possible. “So ask for Ashley?”

“Ask for Ashley, and don’t drink all of the complimentary champagne.”

Emma groans. “I can’t even think about champagne. I think I’m still recovering from that hangover from two weeks ago. I mean, who goes to Vegas and gets drunk on champagne?”

“People who work in the wedding industry. It’s basically our water. Bye, Emma. I’ve got to go.”

“Bye, Marg. Tell David he still owes me from losing that poker game.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

After Mary Margaret hangs up the phone, Emma quickly walks into her bathroom, brushing her hair out and pulling it up into a ponytail before washing her face and rubbing moisturizer into her skin. She used to curl her hair and do a full face of makeup every time she had a fitting, but she doesn’t do that anymore. There’s no point. They’ll put makeup on her when they need it.

Fifteen minutes later she’s drinking her second cup of coffee for the day, lacing up her sneakers so she can go to the gym after the fitting, and then she’s grabbing her phone and her keys only for there to be a knock at the door. She almost ignores it, figuring it’s someone trying to sell her a new knife set or something else ridiculous like that, but when she looks through her peephole, there’s something oddly familiar about the guy. But she meets a lot of people, so that’s not all that uncommon.

Sighing, she undoes the chain on her door and opens it the slightest bit so she can talk to the guy and see what he wants.

“Who are you?”

He smiles, lips curling up into a smirk while his blue eyes glint under the florescent lights. “Your husband, love.”


	2. Chapter Two

“Your husband, love.”

Emma blinks at him, far more than what’s considered normal most likely, and he really should have introduced himself in a different way.

Or reintroduced himself if the look on her face is any indication.

Killian isn’t entirely sure of the best way to go about this, obviously. It’s been years since he felt awkward around a woman, but this isn’t exactly a simple situation where he walks up to a woman at a bar, offers to buy her a drink, talks to her and dances with her for an hour or so before they head back to one of their apartments.

This isn’t a situation where he loves a woman, has her love him in return, and then has her leave the engagement ring on the kitchen counter before she disappears from his life.

This is…different.

Obviously.

And all of the words he rehearsed on his drive here completely slipped his mind and are probably back in Vegas instead of Boston. That’s about three-thousand miles away, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them back.

“Oh,” Emma laughs, but it’s most definitely a pity laugh. “You’re the guy who played my husband at that thing. The – ”

“The wedding convention, yeah, but also I – ”

“Wait,” Emma starts, closing her front door so that he can only see half of her face now, the worried confusion turning into actual worry, “what the hell are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

“You gave me your address.”

“I would not have done that.”

“You did.”

“I did not.”

Killian sighs and reaches his hand around his back to dig in the back pocket of his jeans to find the crumpled piece of paper that Emma gave him the night they met. “Look, it’s got your name and number on it, and there’s a little scribbling of – ”

She opens the door so that she can snatch the piece of paper out of his hands, reading it with squinted eyes before they widen until they’re almost comically big. She doesn’t have on makeup like she did that day, but the green of her eyes is still so vibrant. “I’d say you’re a liar, but this is my handwriting. I only wrote Boston, though. I didn’t write my address. And look, dude, as good as the sex was, I’m not going to sleep with a one-night stand again, especially if that someone is creepy enough to show up at my door. So, goodbye, or something like that.”

And with that, Emma slams the door in his face until it shakes in its frame.

Of-fucking-course.

This most likely would have gone better if he’d not decided to joke around at first, but to be fair, it wasn’t a joke.

Sighing, Killian reaches his hand up to knock on Emma’s door once more. He would give anything not to be here right now. He’s got about twenty other things he needs to be doing today, but he can’t do most of them until this is over.

“Love,” he yells through the door when she doesn’t answer. “Swan.”

“I will call the cops on you,” she shouts back.

Irony is everywhere, he thinks to himself.

“Funnily enough, the cops are the reason I’m here in the first place.”

There’s a clatter inside the apartment before he can hear the chain on her door being pulled, and then the door is opening with the chain still attached so that he can only see half of Emma’s face. He thinks she’s even more beautiful than he remembers her being, which is pretty much impossible since he remembers her being the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

There is just something about the emerald of her eyes that he can’t quite forget.

“What the hell are you talking about…”

“Killian Jones,” he fills in, realizing that she likely doesn’t remember his name. She remembers they slept together, though, and he’s relieved over that for a myriad of reasons. They both drank a lot of champagne that night, and he doesn’t want to be sleeping with someone who is too drunk to remember it even if he’d had the same amount to drink. “And look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a lunatic, but two weeks ago, we got married.”

“We got _fake_ married. I know we had a lot of champagne, but none of that was real. You know that, right? It was all pretend and scripted and still super weird.”

How the hell is he supposed to explain this when he can’t quite explain it to himself?

“I do know that, love,” he mumbles, scratching behind his ear and then reaching into his coat pocket. He really should have put all of this stuff into a folder instead of every pocket he has. That’s what Liam would have done in a situation like this. Well, no, Liam wouldn’t have gotten himself into a situation like this in the first place. “Take a look at these, if you’d please, and then give me five minutes to explain everything. We can keep talking here, or we can go to a coffee shop and talk so you’re more comfortable.”

Emma glances up at him, taking him in, before she reaches her hand forward and takes the pictures. “If these are dick pics, I will call the cops. I have no hesitations.”

“I can assure you they aren’t.”

She huffs, but then she looking down at the handful of photographs. Her face morphs from annoyed to nothing to utter disbelief. He watches it all happen while knowing that he made the exact same faces while seeing these pictures for the first time.

Well, nearly the same faces. He thinks it might have taken him longer to figure out what exactly is in the pictures.

“Are we getting married by an Elvis impersonator in these pictures?”

“Aye.”

“And they’re real pictures? They’re not photoshopped or anything as part of your arrestable stalking offense against me?”

“They’re real.”

“Like, are they real as in we took them as a joke or real as in we got married in Vegas like we were in a bad romantic comedy?”

“Both?”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an answer.” He doesn’t know much about the lass, but he’s pretty sure she’s about to punch him in the throat if he doesn’t start explaining things soon. “Listen, Swan,” he starts, holding his hands up and plastering what has to be the most unconvincing smile on his face, “I’ve known about this for a week, and this is as far as I’ve gotten with how that night went. We worked all day, got tipsy on free champagne, went back to my hotel and had sex because we both wanted to, and then we proceeded to drink all of the complimentary alcohol until we were drunk off our asses and wandering around Las Vegas applying for a quickie marriage license and then getting married by a quite frankly awful Elvis impersonator So yeah, like a bad romantic comedy, as you’d say.”

He expects the slamming of the door in his face. He really does. He would slam the door in his face too if he showed up at a practical stranger’s apartment spewing this nonsense, but it’s still a shock when all of the sudden he can no longer see Emma’s face and all he can hear is the loudest screaming of the word “fuck” that he’s ever heard in all of his years of life.

Killian had nearly the same reaction when he found out he was married because the Boston PD told him that he’d lied and failed part of his background check because of it.

He’d said it even more loudly when he got home to his apartment later that day and found an envelope mailed to him by the wedding chapel full of pictures from his wedding.

Talk about timing.

What happens in Vegas inevitably does not stay in Vegas, and whoever allowed them to get a marriage license – a legitimate one at that – and then get married while drunk off their asses should be fired from their job. They’re either better actors than they have any right being or the clerk did not care that they were far from sober.

How does he not remember? How does Emma not remember either? They weren’t drunk when they slept together, but they were easily on their way after. And then…what made two practical strangers decide that getting married was a good idea? Was it the fact that they were both attracted to each other? Was it the lore of Vegas and all of those goddamn clichés? Maybe it was the fact that they’d spent the entire day pretending that it was the happiest day of their lives, and all of those thoughts and the falsities of the day seeped over into their thoughts and lead them to a chapel.

He’s never been black-out drunk in his life, despite the times where he was damn near close after Liam’s death and Milah leaving him, and now he never wants to do that again.

“Swan,” Killian sighs, knocking on her door again, “I understand that you’re likely in shock. It’s a lot to take in, but I really need you to talk to me about this so we can figure out how to get it reversed. I think we should be able to get an annulment, but I haven’t actually talked to a lawyer yet. I was waiting to talk to you first.”

There’s no answer. He’s probably never going to see her again.

But then the door is flinging open, and she’s walking out of her apartment with her purse slung over her shoulder and her keys in her hand so that she’s locking the door behind her. “I’ve got a dress fitting in ten minutes, and my manager will kill me if I miss it. So if you have something else to say, you’ve got the seven minutes it takes me to get to the shop to say it.”

Killian is chasing after her now, using his longer strides to catch up to him as she practically power walks out of her apartment building and out onto the streets of Boston, and even though she must want to know more about the fact that they are husband and wife (bloody hell is that still perplexing to think about), she is obviously itching to get away from him.

So he attempts to explain everything as best as he can. He relays his memories of the night, trying to fill in some blanks with her, and while she says she remembers them sleeping together and then deciding to go get something to eat afterwards, everything else is a hazy mess for her. There’s some memory of wandering around various hotels on the strip, but she chalked that up to a foggy dream that she soon forgot.

It was real.

And so is the fact that he only does the modeling stuff to pay the bills and that he’s trying to be hired by the Boston PD, and when he tells her that, she turns around and runs her eyes up and down his frame.

“Oh, you want to be a cop? Is that what’s up with the shorter haircut?”

“What?”

“Your hair is shorter than it was. It’s a neater cut. It was kind of long two weeks ago, and I don’t know, most cops have shorter hair even if yours is a little longer at the top.”

“Why, love,” he teases, leaning into her space, “I thank you for noticing. Couldn’t help staring at me, could you?”

“You wish.”

“Aye, I do.”

Emma huffs and turns away, returning to her quick pace. Yep, he’s definitely always going to be chasing this woman if he hopes to get anything accomplished.

“Listen, Swan, I know this must be confusing, but I’d really like to get all of this handled as quickly and as easily as possible, and I need you to come to my precinct where I’m trying to get hired and explain to the officers that I didn’t lie about being married. I simply didn’t know that I was, but in a way, I’m relieved that we both live in the same city. That’s convenient.”

She comes to a stop in front of a store with a row of wedding dresses, and he nearly plows into her before stopping himself. From the roll of her eyes and her arms crossed over her chest, he can tell she’s not amused. “What’s your district?”

“A-1. It’s – ”

A smile curves onto her lips, but it disappears just as quickly. “I know where it is. Arrange a meeting with your commanding officers or whatever, and I’ll come meet you there. Then we can figure out how to get this marriage annulled because no offense, but I’d rather not stay married.”

“How do you want me to get in touch with you?”  
  


“You have my number, Jones. You can use it. I’d prefer that to you showing up at my door again.”

At that, she’s turning on her heels and walking away from him and into the dress shop. Killian’s got no clue what the hell just happened or if he actually solved any of his problems. All he knows is that it’s over with, and he’s craving a glass of rum.

One he likely shouldn’t have given the situation he’s in, and really, he should probably channel all of his frustration into a run or something like that. He can pass all of the physical portions of his training exams, but he’d like to stay on top of things so he doesn’t fall behind.

His phone rings in his coat pocket, and Killian pulls it out to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Ariel hisses out.

“Back Bay. Why?”

“You have a meeting with the boat tour company over their ads in twenty minutes.”

  
  
“Shit. I do, don’t I?”

“Yep. How did you forget that? You never forget anything.”

“Ah, I don’t know, A,” he lies, turning on his heels and starting a quick jog back to the garage where his car is parked. “I’m stressed over my interview and all for the department, and all of my other gigs have slipped my mind.”

“You’re going to kill it. Don’t be stressed.”

“That doesn’t help.”

  
  
“Yeah, well, neither does you missing appointments when this is how both of us are currently getting paid.”

“You have other clients besides me.”

“Yes, but not all of my clients are the younger brother of my husband’s best friend.”

Killian’s heart pangs, but he knows it’s true, and it’s what has him running like a madman through the streets so he’s not late for this appointment where all they’re going to do is look at his face and decide if it can sell people on taking boat tours around the city. It may be the vainest job in the world, but a job is a job.

At least for now.

One day, just like this damned accidental marriage, it will come to an end, and Killian will be able to move on with his life like he’s wanted to for years now.

Or at least he can hope.


	3. Chapter Three

“Emma, do you want a salad with your steak?”

“Do I want it? No. Should I have it? Probably.”

Mary Margaret laughs at her and then turns to start cutting up some more lettuce. Emma always feels horrible whenever she comes over to the Nolans and they cook for her. She offers to help, but they all know they’re better off if she stays far away from the kitchen. One time she put the rolls in the oven, forgot about them, nearly burned the apartment down, and they haven’t let her near the oven – or stove for that matter - since.

She can definitely cook rolls. That was an accident.

“So,” Mary Margaret begins, “how did your dress fittings go yesterday? Did you like the dresses?”

“There was so much lace, Marg. Like, I have never seen so much in one day. It’s obviously going to be a trend next summer.”

  
  
“Yeah? I’ve always loved a lace wedding dress. You know, my dress was – ”

“A strapless, fitted dress that was a mermaid style and overlaid with lace. I know.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and holds her knife up at Emma. “I may be a sweetheart of a human being, but I know how to defend myself.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Emma scoffs and rises from the barstool the pour herself a glass of wine. “Is Ruby coming tonight?”

“She’s got a date with Mulan tonight before she goes to New York for two weeks for a few shoots.”

“What? They didn’t want to spend a romantic evening with you, me, and David?”

“You know, believe it or not, I don’t think the two of them think we’re a great time.”

Emma mock gasps. “Shocker.”

“Okay, ladies,” David sing-songs as he walks back into the apartment from where he’s been up on the rooftop grilling in his ridiculous apron, “I come with your steaks grilled to perfection, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.”

The three of them sit down around the small table in the corner of the Nolan’s apartment and eat their steaks, which are grilled to perfection actually, and share about their days. Mary Margaret only did paperwork from home today while David had a particularly difficult new police officer that isn’t quite catching onto the rules, which isn’t great when they had him out on patrol. Being a Lieutenant obviously isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be for David, but Emma knows he’d never want to be anything else.

“Hey, speaking of that, how strict is the background check part of becoming a cop?”

Both of them stop eating, the metal of their forks and knives clanking against the porcelain of their plates, and blink at her.

“Emma,” David hesitates, picking up a napkin to wipe his mouth, “you know you can’t. I mean, I would love for you to but – ”

“No, no, no,” Emma interrupts, raising her hands, “not for me. I don’t…you know I know I don’t want to be a cop, right? Like, super thankful for you, but with my history, I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

David sighs. “I still hate how much of your life that bastard has fucked up. You should have so many more opportunities for what you want to do with your life.”

“I don’t want to deal with that. I just…ugh.”

If she buries her face in her hands and groans all night, she doesn’t have to tell them this, right? There’s no need for her to share what has to be one of the stupidest decisions she’s ever made. She can hoard that little secret forever and no one has to know what she apparently did while drunk off her ass in Las Vegas like the biggest cliché in the world.

Bradley Cooper and Zach Galifianakis have nothing on her. Except for maybe the tiger and missing teeth and all that.

“Emma? Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” Emma mumbles, not meaning it. “ _Igotmarried_.”

“What?”

“What do you mean you got married?”

“Married?” David shouts before coughing and having to hit his chest. “What do you mean you got married? Who did you marry? I didn’t know you were seeing someone!”

“I’m not,” Emma explains, wanting to die a little inside. “Remember when we went to Vegas for that weird convention thing last month?”

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret answers while David continues to drill lasers into her head. You’d think he was her father and not her friend. “What about it?”

“Well, the guy who played the groom and I…spent the night together.” That gets her a groan from the both of them. She knows. She gets it. They’re not fans of her spending nights with men she doesn’t know, but she can handle herself. “And then we decided to drink too much instead of parting ways and somehow, we ended up at a chapel and got married. Legitimately. I checked. Our license is online and everything.”

She lets the two of them have their freak out for the next ten minutes or so. Mary Margaret never stops asking questions while David keeps muttering curses under his breath and seems not to have a fully functioning brain. It’s a lot to comprehend. She understands. She spent her entire day yesterday trying to figure out how this happened and what she was going to do about it.

Get it annulled, obviously.

Killian mentioned that, and when she got home after her fittings yesterday, she looked it up and made sure they qualified – the both of them not being in their right mind definitely qualifies them for an annulment. Killian probably had whiskey dick or something after the marriage, so she’s guessing they didn’t have sex afterward either. Before, yes. That’s a definite. After, nope. And apparently not consummating the marriage is still a legal reason for annulment in most states.

“How did you find out about this?” David finally asks when his brain starts working again.

“Killian found me yesterday and told me. He’s trying to become a cop in the A-1 district, funnily enough, which is why I asked about the background check thing. He was having his done when they came upon our marriage, which he didn’t tell them about…obviously.”

“You can’t say you don’t have a type.”

Emma flicks a piece of lettuce at Mary Margaret. “Remember how you threatened me with that knife earlier?”

“What?” David screeches, hands slamming against the table. They’re going to cause him to have an aneurism.

“Nothing, honey. So what are you two going to do about this marriage?”

“We’re going to get an annulment. He’s supposed to text me on when I have to go down to the station to talk to his recruiting officer about the whole situation, which I’m sure won’t really help his case, and then we’re going to find a lawyer or figure out how to do the paperwork ourselves.”

“And you’re okay dealing with a lawyer again?”

“I mean, I’d rather not, but all of the paperwork online looked…confusing. I don’t know. I’m not sure what exactly we’re going to do. I haven’t really processed it all. I still think I’m going to blink and it’s all going to be a dream.”

“Shit, Emma,” David sighs, the beginnings of a chuckle creeping into his voice, “you got married.”

Emma chunks her a throw pillow at him.

After the Nolans have finished interrogating her, but mostly laughing at her for this situation she’s ended up in, she tells them she’ll talk to them later but she’s going home. This has exhausted her, and she wants to sleep. As soon as she walks in her front door, she throws her keys on the entryway table where the envelope of her wedding pictures are still sitting, kicks off her shoes, and reaches under her shirt to take her bra off with all of the sweet, sweet relief that comes with that.

Her apartment is messy enough that it needs to be cleaned, but it’s a quarter until ten, and no one but her is going to see this place. Cleaning isn’t a priority.

Then again, when is it ever for her?

She’s not a slob by any means, but she’s not going to die if there are some clothes on the floor and a dish in the sink.

Sighing, she walks toward her couch and plops down onto the soft cushions, wondering if she’s going to fall asleep before she has the time to watch an episode of Downton Abbey, her newest mindless television show that most of the world has already seen. Emma’s turning on her TV when her phone buzzes in her hands.

**Unknown number:** Can you meet tomorrow?

**Emma Swan:** That entirely depends on who this is.

**Unknown number:** Killian Jones.

“Oh shit,” Emma mumbles under her breath. She was expecting to hear from him, but she’d almost forgotten in the last hour that she had this situation to deal with. She spent the whole night talking about him, but for a little while, she allowed herself to forget.

**Emma Swan:** I can meet tomorrow. What time? At the station?

**Killian Jones:** Does 1:00 PM work for you?

**Emma Swan:** That’s fine.

**Killian Jones:** See you tomorrow, love.

-/-

It’s been three years since Emma’s been in front of this police station. Three years, give or take a few weeks, but nothing about it has changed. Same red doors that need painting and same grimy concrete steps that do not make it an inviting prospect no matter your reason to go inside. Then again, who really wants to go to a police station? That’s not exactly what someone would consider fun.

Emma doesn’t exactly consider this fun.

The wine she had last night helped ease her into sleep, but this morning when her alarm went off to very annoyingly yell at her to go to the gym, all of her anxiety over having to be here today came back in full force that she channeled into her hour-long run on a treadmill that made too much noise. She should have taken a Pilates class or something instead. That way she wouldn’t have had to listen to the groan of the treadmill and would have had the voice of the instructor to distract her.

(Mulan always kicks her ass.)

God, why are police stations the absolute worst?

“Are you always so jumpy?”

Emma stumbles over her own feet with her jump, and Killian’s chuckle does not amuse her, not at all.

“Point proven,” he continues, swaggering up to her and down the rest of the steps that lead to the entrance. He’s got on a leather jacket despite it being sweltering out here, and she has no idea how he’s not sweating. She was sweating simply putting her bra on this morning. “It’s a pleasure to see you, love.”

“Did I not tell you not to call me that?”

“I don’t believe you did.”

“Well, I’m not your love, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me as such.”

Killian bows – he _freaking_ bows – and rolls his hand in circles in front of her. “As you wish, _Swan_.”

He’s a cocky son of a bitch, isn’t he?

“So,” Emma starts, taking a deep breath, “what do you need me to do in here exactly?”

“Tell the truth. It doesn’t exactly make me look too great to have gotten drunk enough to get married in Vegas while on a job, which I’m sure will be a reason to have my ass handed to me on many occasions, but I need you to tell the truth and explain that I honestly did not realize I had a better half.”  
  


“Fine. Sounds simple enough.”

Killian nods, his lips pressed into a tight smile, before he opens up the door to that station for her.

“What? Are you a gentleman or something?”

“I’m _always_ a gentleman, Swan.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

On instinct, Emma walks into the station and starts walking past the front desk like she still has access to the place, but she quickly holds herself back and stops, stepping backward and hoping that no one noticed her. When she sees Killian’s raised brows, she knows that he did. Dammit.

“Hello, Marlene,” Killian drawls out, laying on the charm a little too thick for whoever the new officer at the desk is. “I’m here for a meeting with Captain Roberts.”

“Is everything alright? I thought the tests for our new officers weren’t until next month.”

“Everything is just fine, love. He simply wanted to meet my lovely wife.”

Oh, son of a bitch. Why would he say that?

“You’re married?” Marlene gasps, eyes full of murder glancing over at Emma. Homegirl is plotting out ways to get rid of Emma’s body right now, and if she gets murdered, she is coming back to life to murder Killian. He’s probably met this woman two or three times in his life, and he’s already got her wrapped around his finger. What must it be like to be able to charm someone like that?

“It’s new. Roberts has heard me talking so much about her, and he’d love to meet her, aye?”

“Uh, o-okay,” Marlene stutters, her jaw still dropped open. “Let me ring him, and I’ll let you back.”

“Thank you, lass.”

Killian turns back toward Emma, waggling his brows and then winking, and she has absolutely no idea how this is the man, of all the men in the world, that she accidentally married.

What a sentence.

“Do you always use your looks to get what you want?”

“Are you saying I have the looks to be able to do that?”

“I do not have to do you this favor.”

“True,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She almost shrugs him off, but then she sees Marlene looking at them again. “You’re doing me a kindness I don’t deserve.”

“Yeah, well, it takes two drunk idiots to get married.”  
  


Killian quietly snorts underneath his breath while there’s a buzzing sound coming from the other end of the station with two doors opening and a group of cops walking out the door. She doesn’t think anything of it, doesn’t pay any attention, until she sees familiar brown hair and the same boots that he wore every single day.

Why the hell could Marlene not have gotten them inside any quicker? She was probably staring at Killian’s ass too much to put in the call quick enough. For a moment, Emma almost turns to Killian and asks him to do something dumb like kiss her so he can’t see her face, but she knows it’s too late. Besides, all two people making out in a police station will do is bring more attention to them.

Shit.

“Emma?”

Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

Killian’s arm tightens around her shoulder, and she can feel him taking everyone in as they walk by.

“Hi, Graham,” Emma sighs, forcing her smile. “How are you?”

He mumbles something to the other cops, guys she recognizes but can’t put a name to at the moment, and they keep walking while he stops right in front of them, taking in she and Killian and Killian’s arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“I’m good.” His smile is genuine, and she really doesn’t need him to be a good guy right now. But he will be. Of course he will be. “How about you? What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, well…it’s a funny story, you know. I – ”

“She’s the wife of one of new prospective officers,” Marlene, like the helpful soul she is, tells Graham. Killian barely manages to stifle his snort.

Graham’s brows nearly hit his hairline. “Is that so?”

“Killian Jones.” Killian sticks his hand out to shake Graham’s, the veins in both of their forearms popping out the slightest bit, and if a sink hole wanted to come and swallow her whole right now, she wouldn’t say no to that. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective.”

“Same to you. Where are you in your application?”

“I have the PAT scheduled for a few weeks from now after I finish all of my medical exams.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything. A friend of Emma’s is certainly a friend of mine.” Graham nods at her then, that same genuine smile still there. “I’d love to catch up soon, if you’d like.”

Killian’s arm feels like one thousand pounds on her shoulders. “Yeah, Graham, that’d be nice.”

“Good.”

As Graham walks away, Killian turns to say something to her, his mouth gaping, but he doesn’t get a chance to before Marlene is telling them to go upstairs to talk to Killian’s Captain…or almost Captain. She’s really not sure how all of that works. On the entire walk through the double doors and up the elevator, she can tell that Killian is practically vibrating out of his skin to ask her about whatever just happened, but he seems to have enough human decency not to do that.

Or maybe he’s terrified that she won’t go along and tell his Captain that he didn’t lie and this isn’t really a big deal. Though, he seems to have no issue telling other people in the station that he’s married.

If she ever does meet up with Graham again, which she probably won’t, she has no idea how to explain this to him. Then again, why the hell is she wondering how to explain to her ex-boyfriend that she’s married but she’s not really married and he probably shouldn’t beat himself up over the fact that she committed to someone else but not him even though he’s a really nice guy.

She really screwed him over, and Emma still hates herself for that. It’s just…she wasn’t ready.

This should really not be her focus right now, especially as she puts on that fake smile again and relays information to Captain Roberts about her and about Killian and about how they got into this whole mess. Killian getting drunk enough to not remember getting married is not a good look, but his Captain seems to understand. It’s awkward as hell, and she’d very much like to get this entire day and situation over with, but it drags on for at least an hour, going a little longer when he and Killian start talking about the football game last night. It takes her five minutes to figure out they’re actually talking about soccer. Who decided that America needed a different name for that sport than the rest of the world?

But eventually it’s over, which is a huge sigh of relief, and Emma is so damn ready to get out of this station and move on with her life.

“Thank you for that, Swan,” Killian says as they step out of the station and walk up the stairs, cars speeding by and the cranes of the nearby construction whirring so loudly it’s the only noises she can hear. “Can I buy you a coffee or something in thanks?”

She almost says no. she really does. That whole thing was draining, but a coffee sounds so damn good right now. “I like anything with hazelnut.”

“I can handle that.”

-/-

“So, how do you know Humbert? He’s how you knew where the precinct was, aye?”

“How do you know his last name? He didn’t introduce himself.”

“It was on his uniform.”

“Ah,” Emma sighs as she sips on her coffee. She doesn’t know what exactly it is that Killian bought her, but it’s fantastic…and much better than whatever gross thing he’s drinking. There’s no sugar or milk or creamer in there, and she doesn’t understand how anyone does that.

“I’m quite perceptive, darling.”

“I’m picking up on that.”

“And I’m guessing Detective Humbert is some kind of former lover. I’m not sure what exactly the relationship was.”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Killian raises his hands. “I understand. It’s just that I quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me asking how the hell we ended up getting married in Vegas. All I wanted to do was get to know you a bit.”

Emma huffs and flicks a sugar packet over at Killian. “You are full of yourself sometimes.”

He shrugs. “It happens.”

“And no offense, but I’m not entirely interested in getting to know your deep, dark secrets. What I am interested in, however, is figuring out how to get this marriage annulled. So why don’t we do that?”

“Discussing my divorce over a cup of coffee in a public café has always been a dream of mine.”

“Annulment, not divorce.”

“Touché, love,” Killian sighs, furrowing his brows as his lips curl into a smirk that has her stomach doing that fluttering thing that she is most definitely ignoring. “Touché.”

He flicks the packet of sugar right back at her.

Killian’s not going to make this easy, is he? At least she’s going to get a free coffee out of it.


	4. Chapter Four

“Hello, love.” Killian waves to Marlene before placing a folder of some of his paperwork on her desk. “Can you do me a favor and send these up to Captain Roberts? It’s the rest of the paperwork he needed.”

“Of course. Do you need anything else?”

Killian hums and winks. “Just for you to have a good day, Marlene.”

“It’s always brightened when you come by.”

Killian huffs before forcing a brighter smile onto his face. He’s been posing for pictures for the past two hours, and he’s not sure how much more smiling he can take. This is why he has to get out of this job and get everything squared away at the station so he can do more with his life.

So he can move on.

Liam was a damn fine officer, and if he were still here, he’d be proud of Killian doing this. It’s so much more than him posing for pictures. When he was younger and had no plan in life, he’d drink too much and sleep with far too many women. That calmed down with Milah, but Liam never really saw Killian turn his life around before Liam died. He’d been there for the early years with Milah, but it hadn’t been enough.

(And on occasion, like with Emma, Killian falls back into old habits.)

Killian has always resented that Liam never saw him try to be better, has always let that hatred fester inside of him, but he’s working on it. That’s the mantra he keeps having to repeat, especially this morning at his shoot as he was poked and prodded and treated like a fucking mannequin.

“Thank you,” Killian tells Marlene. “I’ll see you soon. Thanks again.”

She opens her mouth to say something, and he braces himself for it before she simply smiles and nods, allowing him to be on his way. Killian turns on his heels and exits the police station, putting his sunglasses over his eyes and walking up the stairs only to come face to face with Detective Humbert.

Fuck.

He doesn’t know what kind of relationship Emma had with the man, but he’s got a pretty good idea. Doesn’t the guy ever stay at his desk or out in the field? That would be helpful.

“Detective Humbert,” Killian says, keeping his smile from earlier.

Graham blinks, and for a moment Killian thinks he’ll get away with this interaction without Graham recognizing him, but things don’t really seem to be going his way today.

“Jones, right?”

“Aye.” Killian reaches his hand forward to shake Graham’s hand, and Graham moves down a step until they’re on equal footing to shake hands. “Killian Jones.”

“Nice to see you, Jones. Is Emma with you today?”

Killian releases Graham’s hand to scratch behind his ear. “No. She’s working.”

He’s got no bloody clue if she’s working, but he doesn’t know what else to say. If Graham was part of Killian’s training team, he already knows he would have no chance in hell in getting his certification.

“She still modeling?”

“She is.”

They stay standing there in silence, the seconds passing by as cars speed down the road and the construction across the street carries on, the crane lifting a large beam in the air.

Graham nods, pressing a tight smile onto his face. “Tell her I said hello then,” he says before stepping down another step and walking toward the entrance.

“Humbert,” Killian calls out because he’s a fucking idiot who for some reason feels obligated to do the right thing here since he could have royally screwed up Emma’s life a few weeks ago when they were here. Graham stops walking and turns around. “Look, mate, I don’t know how to say this without making myself look like an ass, but Emma and I aren’t married.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, we are married. Legally, at least. We were both working out at a wedding convention in Vegas, got a little tipsy, and got married. We’re getting it annulled though. I was just being an ass and bothering her when I told Marlene she was my wife. I had no idea someone she knew was going to walk through the doors.”

Graham crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, staring Killian down despite the fact that Killian is on higher ground. “Isn’t there some kind of rule in Vegas that they can’t give you a license if you’re drunk?”

“Aye. Emma and I are apparently fantastic at acting sober.”

“That’s, well, that’s fucking crazy, but it does make more sense to me. Emma was never really the marrying type.”

“Pardon?” Killian says as the tiniest bit of anger boils in his stomach.

“I don’t mean it in an offensive way,” Graham explains. “There’s nothing wrong with her feeling that way. I know how she is. We were together for awhile, but I wasn’t the right man for her. Maybe you will be if you can make it past the whole getting married thing.”

Killian wants to explain that they’re not together, that they’ve never been together for anything other than a night of sex, but there have been other officers walking by he and Graham this entire time. He really doesn’t need to get into any of this. Hell, Emma will kill him if he says anything else to her ex. It’s just not his business.

“Thanks. See you around, Humbert.”

“See you around, Jones. Remember to tell Emma I said hello when you see her.”

“Of course.”

  
  
Finally, Graham leaves and goes inside the station, and Killian is free to get out of downtown and go home.

He needs at least a little break before tonight.

-/-

“Oi, why are we going out to watch fireworks?”

“Because Ariel wants us to.”

  
  
“And we do everything Ariel wants?”

“It’s a nice show,” Killian yells into the other room, pulling off the pair of sweats he changed into when he got home and tugging on a pair of jeans, the holes at the knees getting caught before he can pull them to his waist and button them. “And she invited us to meet them down by the harbor for dinner and the Labor Day fireworks. Ariel loves this kind of stuff, and believe it or not, on occasion it is alright to be nice to someone you care about.”

“I have a late shift at the bar tonight, mate. I don’t think I can watch the whole show, and it’s in the opposite part of the city and all.”

Killian sighs and grabs a t-shirt to put on before walking out of his bedroom and down the hallway so he can actually see Will when he’s talking to him instead of having to yell. He’s sure their neighbors love it when they do that. But he’s still tired, is still partially ready for this day to be over with, and he’s agitated enough to not want to have to put up with Will’s shit.

“Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. Despite your general attitude, you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.”

Will puts down the dish he’s washing, porcelain of the plate hitting against the metal of the sink. “Don’t be an ass about it. Is this your way of guilt tripping me?”

“Oh, definitely not.”

“Fuck it, Jones,” Will groans, “you _are_ guilt tripping me.”

Killian smiles, but he says nothing as Will keeps blinking at him.

Perfect.

Maybe he is being a bit of an ass about it.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You don’t, you git. Now go get dressed. A and Eric are probably saving us seats at the Wharf.”

“I can stay for thirty minutes, and then I have to go to work. Not all of us can use our pretty faces to make our money.”

“Stop being jealous and put on a shirt without stains, Scarlet.”

-/-

Ariel and Eric are waiting for them at the Wharf, just like Killian knew they would be, and Ariel absolutely gushes over Will showing up. She’s got a soft spot for him, God knows why, but Killian’s glad he pulled Will out of the apartment for long enough that he would come down here even if it’s just for a beer before he goes to serve actual beers to people who are reveling in having a three-day weekend.

If Killian had a regular job, which he’d one day like to have now that he’s dropped off the rest of his paperwork for the PAT. He had it scheduled, but then it got rescheduled after the whole background check debacle and so he can take it with a bigger recruiting class that will all be in the Academy together. It’s why he’s got his phone pretty consistently in his hand waiting for an email or a text or something.

From Captain Roberts…or Emma.

He’s been thinking about her all day, pretty much ever since he ran into Graham. It’s been twenty or so days since he last saw her, since he last heard from her in a coffee shop as they hashed out the details of their annulment. She’d been more than ready to get it over with, had practically only talked about it, and he gets that. He does. Why would she want to stay married to him, especially when he gets the sense that Emma is jumpy? At first it was the nervousness outside the precinct, then how she was inside after they ran into Graham. Now he knows that she’s not one for marriage, apparently, and he went and married her the night they met.

And now that they’re trying to fix that he keeps pressing her into having an actual conversation about anything else.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Why is he trying to get to know a woman who doesn’t want to get to know him?

_Oh, because she’s charming and funny and sexy as hell._

But mostly, he thinks, she’d been freaked out over the process of having to get the annulment. She was the one who brought up the lawyer but kept insisting that maybe they didn’t have to use one even if the both of them are pretty sure that they’re in so far over their heads that they need all of the help they can get.

He’s thirty years old, but sometimes Killian can’t help but feel like a kid who’s waiting for his brother to find a solution to all of his problems.

That’s not going to be something that happens ever again, and even though it’s been years, Killian still forgets that Liam isn’t here.

Is never going to be here.

Right now, all he really wants is for Emma to text him or call him or send him a damn email with the attorney’s name she decided on so that they can file the annulment papers and go ahead and get it in the system and have it be over with. Neither of them are contesting it, so it shouldn’t take too long.

Move on. He desperately wants to move on with his life.

“Earth to Killian Jones. Are you there? Is there anything going on inside of that head of yours? No? I knew pretty people couldn’t also be smart.”

“So what does that say about you, A?”

Ariel scoffs and rolls her eyes while Killian shakes himself out of his thoughts. “I think you meant to insult me, but really, all you did was compliment me.”

“He’s not very good at the insults,” Will sighs. “But he’s an expert at the compliments. He could get any woman out here to go on a date with him in five minutes.”

  
  
“That sounds like a challenge.” It’s Killian’s turn to roll his eyes at Eric before reaching down and taking a sip of his beer while his eyes scan over the crowd that’s flooding the boardwalk and moving over to the open green space where several booths and food trucks are spread out with a few hundred people lounging around on their backs or sitting on chairs they brought with them to watch the fireworks and celebrate Labor Day weekend. “What do you say, Jones? You want to try that?”

Ariel slaps her husband. “We are not having Killian make a bet on whether or not he can get a woman to go out with him. That’s how every single nineties’ romantic comedy got their drama.”

“Wait. You’re opposed to this because it goes awry in a few movies?”

“And the fact that it’s kind of misogynistic. You can’t just make a joke out of someone’s feelings.”

“So if I were to tell you that I asked you out on a date because – ” Ariel moves to slap Eric again, but he catches her hand before she can touch his shoulder and then leans forward to quickly brush his lips against her cheek. “I’m kidding, sweetheart. I asked you on a date because you were the most beautiful woman in my American literature class.”

“You two are bloody saccharine,” Will mumbles.

“Hey, look at you with your big word there, Scarlet.”

“That’s it,” Will groans, standing from his chair at the table, “I’m going to work. I’ve talked, had a beer and some potato logs, and I want to go stand in the air conditioning of the bar.”

“See you at home, mate?” Killian questions.

“Yeah, whatever. Bring me home a bag of those donuts from the booth over there.”

Killian mock salutes as Will walks away, his head slowly shaking from side to side. Killian’s agitated mood seems to have passed over to Will for the most part, and he’s not even going to be sorry about it today. He needs a night where things go right.

“He loves us,” Ariel sighs. “You can tell in the look in his eyes. That’s all love there.”

“Yeah,” Killian huffs, drinking his beer while his eyes land on a woman with long, lean legs and an ass that fits perfectly inside of her jean shorts which don’t seem to be covering much of her thighs. She’s got blonde hair pulled back into a braid and…holy shit. The universe can’t seem to give him a break. Or, well, maybe it can. “Hey, Fisher?”

“Yeah?” they both say.

“Hundred bucks says I can get a woman to come over here to our table and spend the night with me.”

“We are not betting on you having sex with someone.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “No, not that kind of spending the night. I want her to spend the _evening_ with me, and if she so chooses to come back to my place, that’s none of your business.”

“I thought we said we weren’t doing that.”

Killian leans forward and winks. “I do so love a challenge.”

And then he’s getting up and walking away from the table to the sound of Ariel’s protests of him being an asshole. And yeah, he knows that he can be, but he’s not about to be an asshole right now. He wouldn’t even think about doing this, at least not anymore, if he didn’t know who this woman was.

“Swan,” he calls out, and he sees the muscles in her shoulders tense before she turns around from the group of people she was talking to. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He can feel the eyes of everyone on them, but he blocks them out and only focuses on Emma. She’s only got on a thin top that shows off her shoulders and the curves of her breasts while also revealing her toned midriff, and he has to fight back memories of their night together if he doesn’t want his jeans to get too tight.

Of all the women in the world to be here.

“Well, you know, Boston is a big city, but it’s apparently much smaller than I thought.”

“Which is a good thing, I assume.”

“Depends on the situation.”

Killian chuckles and takes another step closer to her before glancing up at her group of friends. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“You know, I’m with my friends and – ”

“Of course she can talk to you,” one of her friends says, a woman with long brown hair full of red streaks and a wolfish smile. “She can make all the time in the world for you, handsome.”

“Ruby,” Emma hisses, “shut up.”

“A hot as hell man just came up to you because he knows you and is asking to speak. You need to go, Emma. You know what they say about droughts and everything getting dried up down – ”

“Okay,” Emma sing-songs, thrusting her hand forward to push at Killian’s chest until he’s backing away, “I will go talk to him if you shut up because none of that is true.”

“I mean, it could be.”

“Rubes.” 

“Fine, fine.”

Killian’s trying to stifle his laugh. He really is, but he can’t help himself when a small chuckle escapes and he gets an absolute death stare from Emma. Ah, he’s kind of missed that. She’s a feisty lass.

“What do you need, Jones?” Emma huffs out when they get far enough away from her friends that they can’t hear the conversation.

“I was wondering why I haven’t heard from you in twenty days.”

He should not have said the exact amount of days. He shouldn’t have. That’s too much.

“The phone works both ways.” 

“Ah, yes, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t have answered my calls or texts if I had tried.”

She crosses her arms, and it takes everything in him not to look at how the movement pushes her breasts up. He’s not going to be that guy. “Look, I haven’t found a lawyer yet, okay? I’ve had shoots pretty much every day for the past three weeks, and it hasn’t been at the top of my list of priorities.”

“Oh really? Ending your marriage hasn’t been at the top of your list? You were the one who said you wanted to pick the attorney because you didn’t want to work with just anyone. It’s some paperwork, Swan. I’ve done some more research and am pretty sure we can do it ourselves. We’re not settling in for a custody battle that’s going to last two years.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’ll get around to it. It’s not like this is keeping you from living your life anymore. I talked to your Captain. Your background check has been cleared, and you can take all of your little tests now. You don’t need me anymore for anything besides filing the papers.”

“Love – ”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

“It’s a force of habit. It’s not something special, so don’t let it get you too high on your horse.”

“You absolute ass- ”

“Emma Swan?” Ariel gasps, and both he and Emma turn to the side to see Ariel walking up to them, absolutely beaming. “Emma Swan, is that you?”

She looks back at him quickly, green eyes as wide as he’s ever seen them, and suddenly the absolutely threatening look she was giving him is turned into a vibrant smile that makes small lines around her eyes appear.

Her eyes have to be another kind of green because he’s never seen any quite so captivating.

“Ariel, hi. What are you doing here?”

How the hell do the two of them know each other? Is Boston actually the smallest city in the world?

“I’m here with my husband and, well, Killian actually. I don’t mean to interrupt you, especially since I know Killian came over here to ask you out, but then I noticed it was you he was talking to and had to come and say hello.”

What the hell is going on?

“Oh,” Emma laughs, “is that what he was doing? Asking me out? I had no idea. That wasn’t very smooth, Jones. I thought you knew how to sweet-talk a woman.”

“Oi, I was not asking you out. I mean, that’s what I told Ariel and Eric but – ”

“Why would you tell them that?”

“There was a bet and – ”

“A bet?”

“Aye, but – ”

“A fucking bet, Jones? What is this? A rom com from the nineties? You can’t ask me out over a bet? And you of all people should know that I’m not exactly interested in dating you. I mean – ”

“Love, if you could let me finish a sentence, I think you’d see that this all makes a little more sense than you’re thinking it does.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, so I – ”

“Wait,” Ariel interrupts as Killian reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “do you two know each other? How do you know each other?”

“Funny, A, I could ask you the same thing.”

  
  
“Ariel knows my agent, Mary Margaret” Emma explains. “Wait. Is Ariel your agent?”

“Aye, but I don’t know a Mary Margaret.”

“Oh, sure you do,” Ariel says, waving him away. “I’ve talked about her plenty. She and her husband go out with Eric and me quite often. So how do you know each other again?”

“Um,” Killian begins, scratching behind his ear.

“We did the convention shoot in Vegas at the end of July,” Emma quickly explains, shooting him a look. “He was my fake husband for the day.”

  
  
“And your real husband right now,” he mumbles under his breath until Emma slaps him.

“What was that?” Ariel asks.

“Nothing, darling. So, what a small world that you all know each other. What are the odds?”

“Well, catalog model agents in Boston run a very small circle. It’s not like we’re in New York or something like that. Also, you lose your bet because you knew Emma. That doesn’t count.”

“I was never going to take Eric’s money, A.”

“I was never going to go out with him anyways. He’s not exactly my type.”

_Bloody liar._

Ariel laughs at Emma before placing her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Why don’t you and your friends join us? We’re about to eat some food and then watch the fireworks. I’m sure we can get an extra seat or two for the table.”

“Oh, no,” Emma protests. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s not intruding at all.”

“Did someone say food?” Ruby asks, skipping up to her and dragging the woman behind her with her. “I’m up for some food.”

Emma turns around to look at her friend, and if he could see her face, he’s sure it would scream murder right now. Holding in his chuckle is more difficult than it should be, but this is all too perfect. He’s not about to pass up on an opportunity to have a night messing with Emma.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian urges, kicking his foot at her, “get something to eat with us. I’ll buy you a beer, though I know you’re partial to champagne and tequila.”

The look she gives him definitely screams murder.

“They sell margaritas at one of these booths. Buy me one, and we’ll eat with you guys. Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

He learns that Ruby is also a model, but that she does more work than Emma because she wants to move onto bigger gigs, and that her girlfriend Mulan is a physical trainer who apparently regularly kicks Emma’s ass enough that Emma will go to another gym some days. This causes Mulan to go into some kind of rant about Emma needing to show up at a class and that the other gym she goes to is a waste of money, but Emma waves her away, murmuring something about finding a cheeseburger, some onion rings, and whatever the largest margarita sold is. That’s how they end up leaving Mulan and Ruby with Eric and Ariel as he and Emma go in search of her food and her drink.

“So onion rings? Not fries?”

“I mean, I like fries,” Emma explains as she walks slightly ahead of him before slowing down to fall in step with him, “and I’ll eat them. But onion rings are undeniably better.”

“Undeniably, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Can you defend that?”

“I like them more, so they’re better.”

Killian chuckles. He doesn’t have a particular fondness for either, but he’s not about to argue. “Okay, lass. Whatever you say. So, have you told any of your friends that you have been happily joined in matrimony?”

She stumbles in her walk. “I told my agent and her husband, who’s a cop, but I didn’t tell anyone else. I had a few questions for David about how to become a cop and all that you were going through. I don’t know…it seemed right to tell them because I knew they could help. You?”

“I haven’t told any of my friends.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I think there’s a burger truck in the second row to your left, Swan. And yeah, I don’t know, didn’t feel like it was something anyone needed to know.”

Emma doesn’t say anything, but she does turn to move toward the food truck he pointed out.

“I can help you find an attorney, you know? I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“I can handle it.”

“Swan.”

“I said I can handle it.”

“It’s been nearly a month. The longer we wait, the longer it’s going to take to get it done.”

She groans and turns around, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Look, I have a thing about lawyers and courthouses and the whole damn legal system, but I really have been busy, okay? I’ll get to it this week and make a decision on how I want to move forward.”

“Does your thing have anything to do with Detective Humbert?”

_Oh boy he really is an asshole._

“You know, like I already said, that’s not really any of your business, but no, it doesn’t.” She turns and her braid flips over her shoulder. It’s a dismissal if he’s ever seen one, and any opportunity to tell her he talked to Graham is gone. It wasn’t a big deal, and he’s sure she doesn’t want to hear about her ex anyways. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get dinner. I will find someone to help me do it.”

“Okay, Swan. I trust you to do that.”

She stops again, making him nearly run into her in the crowded area, but then she’s quickly moving again and working her way to get her food. Emma Swan makes absolutely no sense to him. None.

But he cannot deny that he is incredibly intrigued by this woman.

He can’t deny that it’s the first time in a long time that something like that has happened, either.

“Jones,” she yells out, “you’re getting me the extra-large margarita.”

“It would be my pleasure, _love_.”

She only rolls her eyes at his endearment this time, and Killian marks that one down as a success.

Or, well, progress.

Like he said, he does love a challenge.


	5. Chapter Five

Emma filed for an annulment of her accidental drunken marriage yesterday.

She also took a pregnancy test.

Neither of those things were exactly in her life plan. Or whatever hypothetical life plan she’s supposed to have.

Luckily, that test (and the three she took after it because she does not trust those things) all came back negative because if getting accidentally hitched isn’t bad enough, getting accidentally knocked up would be even worse. That’s significantly more permanent and time consuming than marrying someone she doesn’t have to see every day, and she’d pass out from stress if she was actually pregnant.

And the extra-large margarita she had two days ago would have been a pretty big mistake.

(It was already a pretty big mistake when it made her a sloppy kind of intoxicated that had her telling Killian Jones that she liked the smell of his hair.)

(Ruby and Mulan have not stopped making fun of her for that.)

(Killian Jones, Emma Swan, and alcohol are obviously not a good combination.)

But she’s not pregnant, started her period today actually, and after going downtown to the family clerk’s office and having the nicest clerk in existence help Emma fill out the request for annulment papers, she’s officially got that off of her to-do list, which had quite possibly been the biggest weight off of her shoulder in years. Walking inside of the courthouse hadn’t been the best time, giving her flashbacks to being seventeen and having to go to trial (and jail) over those damn stolen watches that Neal set her up for, but at least she didn’t have to have a lawyer.

She stressed over that way too much, but it’s all in the past now. She’s got to keep that stress there.

Fucking Neal. He’s the scum of the earth, and that doesn’t even describe him. She wants to – no, she can’t. she can’t go there.

Positives. She has to focus on the positives, and not all of the memories she’s been tormented with over the past few days. There have been flashbacks of spending her days in a small cell and marking down the days until she could get out, her eighteenth birthday passing by her without her truly realizing it because she’d missed a few days on her chart. The flashbacks of the pregnancy test are the worst, however. The test she’d taken in jail was cheap, something not entirely reliable, and for a brief moment, Emma thought she was pregnant.

For an even briefer moment, she was happy about it because it meant she still had a connection with Neal. How messed up was she that she still wanted to be connected to the man that betrayed her trust and her heart? Why would anyone sane want that?

Why would anyone want to be connected to the man who ruined their life?

Because she loved him, let him tell her that things in her life were going to turn out right, and listening to him was her first mistake.

Emma wasn’t pregnant then and isn’t pregnant now, and she’s thankful for both negative tests even if things would have been different this time. It wouldn’t have been great, but at least she wouldn’t be a teenager in jail scared shitless over how the hell she’s going to do anything with her life because no one she cares about seems to stay. She’s got people now. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. That’s all that matters to her.

She’s got to stop focusing on those awful memories that make her stomach churn and nausea bubble up, and she needs to focus on something productive.

Like serving Killian Jones with his annulment papers.

The clerk has given her options to do that, including paying a courier to do it, but that had cost money and she figured it would be just as easy to give it over to them himself and ask for his half of the two hundred bucks she had to shell out for this. She meant to text him yesterday morning to arrange a time, but the whole pregnancy test thing threw her off. There was no way in hell she was going to talk to him after all of that. Today, however, she’s going to get her shit done and get this whole thing over with.

**Emma Swan:** Can you meet today?

The little bubbles pop up two seconds later.

**Killian Jones:** I’m booked all day today. Tomorrow?

**Emma Swan:** I’m booked all day tomorrow.

**Killian Jones:** Saturday then?

**Emma Swan:** I can do Saturday. What time?

**Killian Jones:** My place? Around noon?

**Emma Swan:** Send me your address.

She realizes that she never tells him why she wants to meet, but he probably knows. Despite them spending the entire evening together Monday night, they’re not casual friends who meet up to get something to eat or go to a concert together. They’re…acquaintances. She’s got no clue, isn’t really interested in defining it, and she’ll leave it at that. Their “whatever” is short term and will be ending soon anyways. There’s no need to get any kind of attached.

Her phone starts ringing, a picture of she and David from last year’s Christmas popping up, and she slides the bar across the screen to answer the phone.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” David sighs, “this is your daily reminder that you have to file your annulment papers.”

“It’s really a shame that you and Marg haven’t procreated yet because you’re such a dad.”

“How could I have a baby when I’m too worried about you? So I think we’ll keep using condoms for now.”

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles, getting up from her bed and walking the few feet to her kitchen, which is really more of a kitchenette that can barely fit food than anything. She needs to get a bigger place, but she doesn’t mind living here. Having a savings account to fall back on is far more important than an apartment with actual walls around her bedroom. “I don’t need to know about your sex life.”

“I know for a fact Mary Margaret talks to you about it.”

  
  
“That’s different.”

  
  
“How?”

“So, I filed the papers,” she blurts out, changing the subject.

“Did you really?”

“Mhm, yesterday, and I’ve already texted Killian so I can give him the papers in case he wants to contest it or anything.”

“Do you think he will?”

  
  
“What? No. Neither of us want to be married. It was literally a drunken mistake. Nothing about it was sane. We both want it behind us.”

“Is that Emma?” Mary Margaret says.

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Wait,” Emma starts, “aren’t you at work? How is Marg there?”

“I’m home on my lunch break. I – ”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, her voice coming in clear in the phone. “I had no idea Killian was one of Ariel’s clients. I don’t know how I didn’t realize that when we did the convention. I called Ariel yesterday, and I just had to talk to her about how funny the whole thing was with the two of you getting married. We – ”

“Wait,” Emma gasps, dropping her package of Pop-Tarts to the counter, “you talked to Ariel about it? Did she know or did you tell her?”

“Well, I told her.”

_Shit, Marg._

  
  
“Marg, Killian hadn’t told anyone about it! I don’t think he wanted to! What happened to not telling anyone?”

“I assumed she knew.”

  
  
“Did you having to tell her about it not clue you in that maybe you shouldn’t have told her?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking. That’s been happening so much lately. God, Emma, these pregnancy hormones will make you insane. It’s, like, shit, my brain isn’t even my brain even more. I’ve been all over the place. I promise I didn’t mean to screw that up. It didn’t even cross my mind. Will you apologize to Killian for me?”

“Mary Margaret Nolan,” Emma whispers, “did you just say that you’re pregnant?”

“Fuck, I did, didn’t I?”

Emma barks out a laugh, leaning forward to rest her arms and her forehead against the countertop. She was just teasing David about this, and then…they’re having a baby. For all the screwed-up thoughts Emma has over her own experiences in this area, she knows this is a good, wonderful thing that David and Mary Margaret deserve.

Damn.

They’re going to be great parents.

“Congratulations, lady! I’m so happy for you guys, and I forgive you for being even more scatterbrained than normal.”

“Says the most unorganized person I know.”

“I get shit done.”

“That you do…most of the time.” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so happy, Emma.”

“As you should be. You guys are going to be the best parents.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Tell David congrats on knocking you up.”

“What a graceful way to put that my wife is pregnant,” David grumbles, his voice muffled. “Real classy.”

  
  
“That’s me. Marg, are you going to be at any of my shoots tomorrow? I think I need to hug you.”

“I will be at your two o’clock appointment because I need to go over some of the paperwork for you.”

“Perfect. Expect the biggest hug of your life.”

-/-

“How the hell does Ariel know that I got married?”

“Well, hello to you too, Jones.”

Emma side steps around Killian and lets herself into his apartment, her eyes scanning over the place. It’s clean a lot cleaner than her place, and she wonders if it’s always like this or if he cleaned specifically because she was coming over. But that would be ridiculous, and she doubts Killian would have straightened up his bookshelves and dusted his TV off just because she was here.

“Hi, Swan,” he sighs, closing the door behind her before walking back to the kitchen where something that smells ridiculously good is cooking on the stove. “It’s nice to see you. You’re looking as beautiful as ever. How the hell does Ariel know that I got married?”

Emma sighs and pulls out a barstool to sit down, dropping the envelope of papers on the countertop. “Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret, and she told Ariel. I’m really sorry about that.”

“I mean, it’s fine. Honestly. Ariel and Eric have always been like older siblings to me, but they can get a little…”

“Overbearing, protective, annoying as hell?”

“Yeah,” Killian laughs, turning around and crossing his arms so that the muscles in his arms flex underneath his t-shirt. “You know the type?”

“My friends are the exact same way, which makes sense that they’re friends with Ariel and Eric.”

“Small worlds and all that.”

  
  
“That seems to be happening lately.” Emma sighs and pushes the papers over the countertop. “So, we are officially a pair of fools whose annulment papers are somewhere bustling around in the family council office of Boston.”

His brow arches. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I didn’t get an attorney. I filed the papers out myself I didn’t ask the split any assets or anything…since we don’t actually share any. I don’t think you have to do anything unless you see something ghastly wrong in these papers, but we have to wait at least twenty-one days before it’ll get looked at. That’s how long you have if you dispute anything.”

“I’m not going to dispute anything, love.” Emma opens her mouth to dispute his little name, but she stops herself. It’s just how he is, and there’s no reason for her to be rude to him no matter how fun that could be. He’s never actually done anything wrong to her. “The only reason I’d dispute the disappearance of our marriage is the fact that I know how you kiss, and it’d be such a shame to not get to do that again.”

She takes back every nice thought about him she’s ever had. She gained a few new ones Monday night, but they’re all about to fly out the window.

“If I had something to throw at you, I would.”

“Such a violent lass.”

“I am what I am.”

Killian chuckles and turns back around to the pot he has on the stove. “I’ve got some spinach and ricotta tortellini if you want to stay for lunch.”

“Oh, I, um, I really shouldn’t.”

“Have you eaten lunch?”

“No.”

“Do you have plans to eat lunch?” He turns around to look at her, and all she can do is shrug. “Exactly what I thought. C’mon, darling. We’ll call it a celebratory lunch that we’re soon to be free of what was quite frankly a nasty marriage. I mean, my wife kept trying to throw things at me.”

“Shut up, Jones, or I’ll actually throw something at you.”

“You think that’s a threat, but really, I see it as a promise.”

The bastard winks. He’s got to stop doing that.

Killian keeps talking, asking her about her shoot yesterday and how it went. He apparently hasn’t been working as much lately but does do the occasional job like the other day to keep paying the bills until he can officially start at the Academy and get a paycheck like normal people do. Emma’s never liked talking about her job because it always seems to lead into conversations about if this is what she really wanted to do with her life. It’s not, never has been, but considering everything, this is so much better than she should have it. Maybe one day she’ll branch out into something more normal and a little calmer, but googling jobs that hire ex-convicts with a GED has never been something she particularly enjoys.

“So, how’d you get into this whole thing?” Killian asks her when he slides her a plate and hands her a bottle of water. “Someone saw you and thought they just had to have your face in an ad in a magazine?”

Emma hums, cutting a tortellini in half. “There was an ad in the paper, which makes me sound so old, for a local dress designer who wanted someone to do a shoot for some of her dresses. There was no experience required. I just needed to be the right size, and I was. I think I maybe got paid two hundred bucks for that shoot, but it opened me up to the whole industry. You?”

If she’s got to answer these questions, he does as well. Tit for tat and all that.

He hesitates. He tries to cover it up, but she can tell. He’s trying to be a cop, so obviously this whole modeling thing isn’t what he’s always wanted to do. Emma may not be some kind of genius, but she knows people pretty damn well.

“Ariel got me into it. I’d known her forever, needed some money, and it just kind of happened. I’d been piddling around in construction and bartending before that.”

“Ariel’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she’s one of the good ones, always keeping me on track.”

Killian smiles, something soft that makes the crinkles around his eyes show up where they normally wouldn’t, and Emma’s stomach flips. It’s probably because this food is really good. That has to be it.

“So, did you make these from scratch? They’re really good.”

“I bought them from Whole Foods. It’s simple, Swan. I think anyone can make it.”

“That’s because you don’t know how unfortunate of a cook I am.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I’m the worst. I won’t admit that to anyone who has seen me cook, but I’m definitely the worst. I could mess up boiling water.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“Hey,” Emma scoffs, flicking a piece of the bread off her plate at him. “I can say it. You can’t say it.”

“Are these in the unwritten rules of Emma?”

“Oh, absolutely. And they constantly change, so you’ll never really know.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, leaning forward to press his forehead to the counter and hiding his face in his hands. She can see his smile peeking through. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Well, I assume at some point we did say ‘til death do us part.’”

“Does that mean you’re going to murder me before our papers are processed?” he laughs, those crinkles showing up again as she feels her own lips curling up to the sides.

“Obviously that’s exactly what I meant. Gonna finally put all of my police connections into use.”

“What the hell is going on out here?” someone groans, and Emma nearly falls off of her stool as someone walks down the hallway in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s got to be fifteen years old from all of the holes and faded letters. “Who the hell are you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You’re in my apartment.”

“You have a roommate?” Emma asks Killian, turning to look at him as he’s still got this shit-eating grin on his face. “You never mentioned that.”

“You never asked. Emma, this is Will Scarlet, my roommate. Will, this is – ”

“Holy shit,” Will gasps, “you’re the girl he married. I couldn’t believe it when Ariel told me. Sorry about that, lass. He’s a real piece of work, and I’m sure he didn’t get you satisfied on your wedding night.”

He did, but that was technically before the wedding, and she’s not saying any of that out loud.

“Oh, I think I’m going to like you,” Emma laughs, shoveling some more food in her mouth. “Can you tell me every weird thing Killian does?”

“How long do you have?”

“All day.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbles, pushing his hair back, “I don’t need to be here for this.”

“You do if you don’t want me to tell her about the time you went blonde.”

“Oh, I definitely have to hear that,” Emma sighs. “Tell me everything. I hope you have pictures.”

“Digital and print versions.”

“Perfect.”


	6. Chapter Six

_For a moment, his mind is hazy, a mixture of too many glasses of champagne and the lust running down his spin, curling around his bones and his skin in a thick heat that fogs his brain and his vision, but then there’s the feel of sharp nails scratching down his back through the cotton material of his t-shirt and the warmth of a mouth hotly pressed against his own. She tastes of vanilla cake and champagne, and she feels like absolute heaven._

_The haze evaporates when her tongue runs over his bottom lip, all of his senses suddenly able to focus on just that one feeling and how good it is, and he might as well have not had a single sip of alcohol today. He’s sober in a sense, at least as much as one can be after so much champagne, but he could get drunk on the feeling of this woman and the way that her breasts press softly into his chest as he presses her up against the hotel wall with a soft thud that echoes down the empty hallway._

_For minutes, who knows how long, Killian’s consumed by the way her tongue moves against his and the way that she likes when his teeth nibble against her lips. He’s consumed with the way that her hands feel in his hair, nails now scratching his scalp, and he’s consumed with the way her waist feels as his fingers dip down further, palming the firmness of her ass._

_How the hell did he luck into meeting someone so beautiful today?_

_This was just supposed to be a job, a day where he did what was asked of him, got paid, and then spent the night wandering around Vegas and taking in all of the craziness that comes with this city where people seem to think that life doesn’t exist outside city limits. It’s all about the here and now and finding the pleasure that’s right in front of you._

_Then again, that’s exactly what he’s doing right now._

_The two of them eventually move back from the wall, working their way down the hallway only for Emma to push him back up against the door to his room, her hands falling away from his hair and down his back until she’s palming him through his jeans while he’s running his lips across the smooth skin of her neck, reveling in the sounds that she makes, sweet and delicate and yet deliciously dirty. He’d take her right here if it wouldn’t get them arrested for public indecency, and that thought has him fumbling for his room key, sliding it over the handle, and moving them inside as they deftly start removing clothes. He pulls his t-shirt off while Emma removes her shirt, revealing a white bra covered in lace. It looks like something she would have worn under the dress she had on all day, and for a brief moment, he wonders if maybe she forgot to take it off and turn it back in._

_But the thought quickly dissipates when he feels his jeans being tugged down, his boxers going down with them, and all of the sudden Emma has her hands on his cock._

_Bloody hell._

_She’s a magician with her touch, the way that she puts on just enough pressure to give him something but not enough to have him writhing with trembling legs, but when her mouth joins her hands, he nearly loses it. Just nearly, though, and since he doesn’t want this night to end with his jeans around his ankles and Emma still half dressed, he moves to stop her, explaining that he has other plans for this night that he thinks might bring her a bit more pleasure._

_“Really now?”_

_“Aye, Swan,” he confirms, kicking his jeans away and pulling her up until he backs her up to the bed so that she falls down and hair mess of blonde hair tumbles down around her. “Be patient for a moment.”_

_“I’ve never been very good at that.”_

_“Well, practice makes perfect.”_

_“Do lines like that always work for you?”_

_“You’re here, aren’t you?”_

_She doesn’t get a chance to answer before he’s running his tongue along the hollow of her throat. He feels the breath escape her, feels the way her body tenses before loosening, and he noses his way down until he’s kissing between her breasts while one hand moves away the lace of her bra so he can find a nipple, twisting it until it’s taut, and the other hand runs down the rest of her body to feel the smoothness of her skin._

_She’s glorious, and he tells her so only for her to scoff. Killian doesn’t know much about her, but from what he can tell, she doesn’t like to admit that she likes the flowery words and the slowness of intimacy even if she does._

_That might be too quick of a judgment. It’s not important anyway._

_Her back arches when he dips his head to wrap his mouth around her nipple while his hands find the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down until he finds the slick flesh awaiting him. Emma gasps, and he grins into her flesh before moving down her body as his fingers curl into her and her hips press up into him. It doesn’t take long before her leggings are on the floor and he’s nibbling on her inner thigh, soothing his bites with his tongue all the while he watches her chest heave with each movement of his fingers and his lips._

_She might be the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, and he buries his mouth between her thighs until her legs are shaking around him and ankles are hooking into his back while her hand tugs on his hair to keep him exactly where he is._

_Fuck._

_“Fuck,” Emma heavily pants out, echoing his thoughts. When he looks up from her thighs, sweat is pooling around her forehead, hair moving from tamed waves to tangled curls, and she has the prettiest pink blush that resides on her cheeks and fades down to her breasts. “I feel like I should thank you for that.”_

_“The pleasure has been all mine.” She tilts her head, and he smiles. “Or all yours.”_

_“There you go with those lines again.”_

_Killian chuckles, curling his fingers inside of her once more before slowly pulling them out and crawling up her body, leaving the marks of his lips over every inch of her before his mouth finds hers again. This kiss is slow, thorough, and there’s no rush to it until his cock drags against her inner thigh, close enough to brush against her folds._

_“Condom,” Emma whispers. “Get the condom.”_

_There’s nothing he’d like more._

_The next few seconds are a blur of him rolling off of her and moving to find his jeans, fumbling around in the pockets to get the condoms they bought on the way here. He rips a package open, careful not to rip the condom as well, and slides it on before settling back in between Emma’s thighs. He takes her ankles and pushes her knees back while he settles down onto his own, leaning forward to brush his lips over the hollow of her throat. And then he’s slowly sliding into her, the warm heat of her surrounding her, and he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in Vegas tonight._

_“You feel absolutely divine, love,” Killian grunts as he starts with slow rolls of his hip, leaning down in order to catch her clit as much as he can._

_“Faster,” she whispers, clawing for his neck to pull him up so that she can kiss him, something quick and dirty. He shifts with the movement, going in deeper, and his groan is captured with Emma’s kiss. “Faster. Don’t go slow.”_

_“Are you determined to kill me, lass?”_

_“No, but that would certainly be an extra perk.”_

_He chuckles against her before he begins rutting against her, his cock dragging against her walls as his thrusts get fast enough until Emma tells him to stay just how he is. Once he’s there, it’s a rush to the finish line. The bed squeaks underneath them, the mattress moving with the power of his thrusts, and Emma lets one leg down while Killian pushes the other back, spreading her wider as his hand finds where they’re joined, rubbing until Emma is panting again._

_This is a one-night stand, a one-time thing. They both know it, but they might as well make the best out of it._

_His thrusts are sloppy now, his release building with every second, but Emma falls first with a keening whimper. He’s quickly behind her, though, pleasure washing over him and spreading from his spine to his toes and everything in between as his orgasm slowly fades away until he’s…_

“Holy shit,” Killian gasps, jolting up in bed and throwing the covers off of him while he blinks at the brightness of the sun shining through his bedroom windows.

Sweat is dripping down his back and forming around his temples until it seeps into his hair. When he runs his hand through it, it’s half damp, some of the strands sticking together, and when Killian looks down, he can see the tenting in his boxers.

That was…he’s never had such a clear memory of he and Emma’s night in Vegas, but that’s what that was. There were parts missing, a few others filled in, and there was no recollection of them getting drunk and getting married but damn. That was something.

His body is thrumming with want and desire, the dream fulfillment not actually real, and Killian is tempted to take himself in hand and give himself some relief. Then, however, he turns to the side and sees the annulment papers sitting on his bedside table. They’ve been there for a week, and he hasn’t touched them since he briefly read over them to make sure Emma hadn’t written down any of the wrong information that he would need to contest. She didn’t, and he carried them from the kitchen counter to his bedroom and left them there. He can’t get himself off to a dream of this woman, even if the dream was inspired by real events, and he needs a cold shower and to go for a run.

A long run.

Sighing, Killian stands from the bed with shaky legs and quickly strips out of his clothes, making his way into his bathroom and the shower, not giving the water any time to even remotely heat up before he steps inside and lets the chilling water fall against his body, washing away the physical remnants of his dream until his skin is pink.

It was just a dream.

That’s what he repeats over and over in his head as he changes into shorts and a t-shirt and as he makes his way to his usual running path along the Charles. The sweat that he washed away quickly comes back as he starts his run. The pace is slow at first, a warm up of sorts, but his head is so full of thoughts and dreams that he quickly hurries up, blocking out absolutely everything but the thought of needing to put one foot in front of the other and the sounds of the playlist reverberating around in his ears. There’s a pleasant burn stretching up from his calves to his hamstrings, his body telling him that he’s stretching himself past normal limits, and weirdly, it drives Killian forward so that he keeps running and running and running and…

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles under his breath when he sees her.

She’s four paces in front of him in a pair of black leggings that hug every curve she has before showing off her toned midriff that’s barely covered by the sports bra she has on. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, blonde waves still managing to cascade down her back, and life has got to be out to get him or something. This is a big city. They shouldn’t run into each other as often as they do. It makes him wonder how long they’ve been running in the same circles without either of them truly knowing it.

He thinks he would have noticed her before, but there are a lot of women in Boston.

For a moment, he almost turns around and runs away from Emma and away from the current source of every single problem in his life, but that would mean he’s passing up on an opportunity to talk to her. He’s not about to do that. Sighing, he presses forward and sprints until he’s two steps ahead of her and can see her face.

(And her breasts, but for the sake of public decency, he’s not going to let his brain wander back to the source of his dreams and the reality right in front of him.)

One of these days he’s going to stop chasing this woman.

“Holy shit,” Emma pants out, stopping in her tracks and squatting down to the ground with her hands covering her face as her shoulders shake. “You scared the shit out of me, Jones. Where did you come from?”

“Well, thirty years and nine months ago, Brennan and – ”

“Shut up.”

“You asked the question.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting your dumbass answer.”

Killian chuckles and reaches his hand forward to help pull her up from the ground. Both of their chests are heaving as they try to catch their breaths after such an abrupt stop to their runs, and he thinks Emma’s face might be as red as a tomato.

“I was running and happened to notice this beautiful woman with a delectable ass in front of me. It was too bad that it ended up being you.”

She slaps his shoulder for that. He probably deserves it. “For that, you’re buying me a jumbo smoothie.”

“Oh, you don’t want to finish your run?”

“You threw my momentum off, and now all I want is a smoothie. My ass is apparently delectable, so I obviously don’t have to be out here. Thus, the smoothie.”

“From any place in particular?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, smiling, “follow me.”

They chat about nothing in particular as they walk, surprisingly comfortable silence falling in between them whenever a certain topic dies down, and within a few minutes, they’re standing behind the counter of a packed smoothie place that has a menu far too large for any reasonable man to be able to make a choice. Emma, however, is obviously a frequent visitor here, and she quickly tells him that she wants some kind of ridiculous concoction full of kale and cauliflower but with enough fruit that all of that is drowned out. Killian’s all for eating healthy. It’s what he does most days of his life, but whatever happened to a simple strawberry and banana smoothie? He forgets that Emma is a model sometimes, that she’s expected to stay in a sample size for her shoots, and this must be her way of balancing out all of the junk food that he’s seen her eat.

It also makes him glad that his days of staying trim for jobs are nearly behind him and that the reason he stays in shape now is because he’s going to get to do something productive with his life that’s more than simply a way to pay the bills.

The Academy is going to start in two weeks, and while it’s absolutely going to kick his ass, he’s ready for it.

This is real, and it’s happening.

After he gets their drinks – there is a combination of simply strawberry and banana but he finds a mango one with protein powder that doesn’t seem too bad – he makes his way back to the back of the shop where Emma’s saved them a table and is tapping away on her phone.

“Thank you,” she says when he hands her the smoothie. “What’d you get?”

“Mango.”

“Didn’t take you for a tropical fruit kind of guy.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

She huffs and reaches forward to take a sip of her drink while still texting. “I have a shoot for a local designer today,” she explains, nodding down at her phone. “Actually, it’s the woman who gave me my first job, funnily enough.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm, but she keeps changing her tune on whether I need to meet her at the hair salon or at the location. She’s always been so flighty.”

“Are you going to be late for it, love?”

“No.” Emma shakes her head and places her phone down, looking up at him with this soft smile that he’s really grown quote fond of over the past few weeks. “So, what’s got you out running so early in the morning?”

Heat immediately fills his cheeks while his groin twitches. “I like the mornings. It’s when I feel most productive. No other reason than that.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Do you usually run this track? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Yeah, this is my spot on days where I’m not in a gym. You?”

“Well, you know, I go to about ten different places to work out because I’m either avoiding Mulan or wanting a different kind of workout, but I’ve been running lately. It’s nice to not be stuffed inside a building with all those other people. Are you going to be here again tomorrow?”

“Why, Swan,” he starts, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the table as he waggles his brows, “I didn’t think you cared about me that much to want to see me again.”

“I don’t.”

  
  
“Liar.”

“I am not a liar.”

“Oh, but you most definitely are, love.” He winks, curling his lips into the smirk he knows causes the corners of her lips to turn up. “I’m irresistible. We’ve established this.”

“Just because I slept with you on the day we met doesn’t mean I find you irresistible.”

Her words seem to catch up to her after she’s said them, another pretty blush coloring her face, and she quickly blinks away from him.

“Have I ever told you about the time that my brother nearly walked in on me the first time I was about to have sex?” he asks, changing the subject.

“No,” Emma gasps, pulling her leg up into the chair and wrapping her arm around her knee as she sips on her smoothie. “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not. I believed the lass and I were home alone. We’d just shed our clothes, and I was not the smooth, confident man that I am now.”

“Well, that’s getting a little carried away.”

His eyes roll. “Anyways, I’ve just put on a condom, am about to slide home, and the front door slams and my brother comes in yelling about how much of an idiot I was for not mailing off the power bill. I think my girlfriend was dressed and hiding in the closet in under thirty seconds.”

“Damn, that’s impressive.”

“Aye.”

“And also unfortunate,” Emma snickers, wiping at her eyes. “I didn’t know you had a brother. Does he have the whole charming British thing going on too or did he spend too much time in America and lose all of that? I remember Ariel saying something about you having only been here for a few years.”

Killian scratches at his neck as his heart pangs. He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have tried to lighten the mood by telling the first story that came to mind, but he did. And as much as it hurts, it also feels surprisingly good to have talked about Liam with someone other than Eric and Ariel.

Cathartic, in a way.

Liam’s almost always on his mind, and it’s difficult not to talk about him when all he wants is to share his memory.

“Liam died three years ago. He was a cop here, and during a routine traffic stop, he was shot and ended up passing away because he was trying to tell a guy his taillight was out.”

He wants to look away, to not have to see the pity in Emma’s face, but he doesn’t. He’s drawn to seeing how she reacts, to seeing if the green of her eyes change or if that pretty smile fades away.

The smile does fade, from the vibrant one to a small, soft one, lips pressed together, and the green gets lighter, but it’s difficult to focus on any of that when her hand is reaching across the table and gentle fingers are wrapping around his wrist.

“You better start running a little faster if you want to be a badass cop like your brother. Your legs were a little slow out there.”

“You didn’t even see me run.”

“Nah, but I can tell.”

“You’re so good to me, Swan.”

“I try.”

They don’t talk about Liam anymore. Emma doesn’t ask questions like most everyone else has done, and it’s nice. It’s more than nice actually. It’s one of the best mornings he’s had in a long time, and Killian realizes that’s been happening more and more frequently lately on the days he gets to spend with Emma.

The thought nearly stops him in his tracks as he says goodbye to Emma outside the smoothie shop after they’d stayed for nearly two hours. It’s been years since he felt this kind of thrill that starts in the pit of his stomach and works over all of his limbs until the tips of his fingers are buzzing. There have been times, moments even, when he thought that maybe he’d find someone who made him feel the way he felt once, but those were all false alarms. That’s what this has to be too, right?

This is simply lust and the remembrance of what it felt to be inside of Emma and to see her moving below him and hear the whispered sighs of his name. This is not the fact that he looks forward to seeing her and laughs at her awful little jokes and appreciates the way that she doesn’t make him talk about all of the shit in his past.

“Where have you been?”

Killian startles and then looks down to see his apartment keys in his hands before looking up to see that he’s made it back to his apartment and is standing inside, Will sitting at the bar eating a bowl of cereal.

When did he manage to make it home?

“Running,” Killian says, dropping his keys onto the counter and reaching into the fridge for the pitcher of water.

  
  
“For this long?”

“Yep.”

“You left at seven this morning. It’s almost noon.”

“I ran into Emma.”

Will barks out a laugh, and Killian ignores him, grabbing a glass out of the cabinet. “So you ran into your wife and then decided to spend your entire morning with her?”

“Shut up, you wanker. I knew explaining that to you after Ariel told you was the worst thing I could have done. I should have left you confused.”

“You know, I was reading up on annulments, and I was wondering if you two were going through with that because you couldn’t consummate the relationship and not because you were too drunk to remember your magical, romantic ceremony.”

“Piss off and eat your cereal, Scarlet.”

“I love you too, mate, and I’m pretty sure you also love your wife.”

He doesn’t, but he’s about halfway there.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait on this one. It's been a busy week (or two), and it slipped my mind!

Emma didn’t notice the leaves change.

Yesterday, she swears that she looked outside and all of the trees were full of deep green leaves and that the grass on the ground was an equally vibrant shade. Today, however, there are brown leaves on the ground and orange and yellow leaves hanging off of limbs, and the grass growing next to the sidewalk is browning the slightest bit. She blinked, and the days changed from early September to mid-October.

How in the world?

Where did all of the time go? Wasn’t she just doing a local commercial (her least favorite kind of job) for the autumn festival that’s happening downtown? How is time for that to already be happening? They shoot those weeks and months in advance.

“On your left,” Killian calls out, and Emma doesn’t flinch. She’s used to it.

“You’re late.”

“Traffic.”

“You walk here.”

“A hell of a lot of pedestrians, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t slow down her pace, letting her legs keep powering her through this run. She’s on mile two, so Killian really is late. They’ve been getting up and going running a little after six most mornings for the past month. It’s far earlier than Emma would ever normally do it, but she likes having a running partner surprisingly enough and Killian has to go to training at eight every morning. It’s either this or run by herself so that every step is pretty much agony.

Just like she didn’t notice the changing leaves, she never really noticed how Killian wormed his way right into her run.

(At least he buys her smoothies…most of the time.)

(He’s grown fond of his mango one as well, and sometimes she does foot the bill.)

Emma turns to the side to finally look at him. He’s dressed in a pair of joggers and a BPD training sweatshirt he has to wear to the Academy, and he must be leaving directly from here instead of heading back to his apartment to take a shower.

She ran into Graham while grocery shopping last week. He was with his girlfriend, so she didn’t talk for a long time because that’s awkward as hell and she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but she did learn that Killian told Graham that their marriage wasn’t something intentional. She’s not really sure when or where or why, and while something like that would normally piss her off, she’s relieved that the guilt of Graham finding out she got married like that is off her shoulders.

She’d forgotten about seeing him until she saw Killian’s sweatshirt. Graham had one just like that, and life seems to like bringing things back around for her. Maybe she should ask him about talking to Graham, or maybe she should just forget about it and move on.

Everyone else seems to have done so.

“You want to race?”

“Huh?” Emma asks, blinking away until Killian comes back into focus. She’d totally zoned out.

He raises his brows before reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. “Do you want to race me, love?”

“Please,” she scoffs, turning away from him to focus on what’s in front of her, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma quickly turns to him again. His smirk is obnoxious, and she’s not about to pass that up.

“First one to the bench with marks from where that guy sat on wet paint wins, okay? Loser buys smoothies.”

“You’re on. When do you want to – bloody hell…”

She doesn’t hear the rest of his curse, and she does know that it’s a curse, because she’s already increased her speed and is sprinting as fast as she possibly can. It’s at least half a mile until that bench, maybe a little over, and Emma can run that far this fast without any issue. Her problem is that Killian, even though he was slower than her when he started, has started to catch up to her. His strides are already longer than hers, but with his speed catching up after so much training, she needs every advantage she can get.

Smoothies aren’t something to play around with.

He’d be so obnoxious if he won.

Killian’s on her heels for every step of the run. His muttered words and the panting of his breath hover just behind her, and she knows that if she were to suddenly stop running, he’d stumble over her. But she doesn’t stop. She lets her legs and her lungs burn and keeps going until she gets that adrenaline high that she’s been searching for. It’s been elusive lately, most of her runs dragging along at a snail’s pace, but this isn’t a long run anymore. It’s a sprint to the finish line.

Very literally.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

The bench is in her sight now, the poor markings left behind by someone who ruined their pants by sitting in wet paint last week, and she propels herself forward to get there before Killian when she feels a hand on her wrist, tugging her back, until she’s falling to the ground, her elbow hitting hard against the grass until she rolls over onto her back and feels the weight of Killian on top of her.

“What the fuck?” she grunts. All of the breath has been knocked out of her, and Killian’s entire body pressing down on her doesn’t help. “What was that for?”

“Sorry,” Killian grumbles, propping himself up on his elbows to lessen his body weight. His cheeks are flushed a slight pink, and his hair is falling over his forehead in sweaty sections. It makes him look younger than his usual penchant for styling his hair off his forehead. Maybe her brain just isn’t functioning correctly and he looks exactly the same. “Are you hurt?”

“I imagine my ass and my elbow are going to be bruised, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“You were about to be run over by a bike, love. Did you not hear me calling you or the incessant ringing of the bell?”

“Uhhh.”

“Exactly. I saved your life, and I think a little gratitude is in order. I do normally prefer to do more enjoyable things with a woman on her back, after all. Of course, you would know.”

His brows quickly wiggle across his forehead, and when his tongue runs over his bottom lip, heat curls between Emma’s legs that has absolutely nothing to do with how sweaty she is from running.

“Just like our marriage, I’m wiping that part from my memory.”

  
  
“Ah, but you weren’t drunk for it. You actually remember it. Tell me, darling, what was your favorite part of that night? Was it when my mouth pressed into your neck in the hallway or was it when it pressed into another rater delicious – ”

“Okay,” Emma mutters, pushing her hands up against his chest until he rolls off of her and onto his back on the grass, “that’s enough of that. I haven’t eaten yet today, and you owe me a smoothie.”

Changing the subject. She has to change the subject.

“I don’t believe you won the race.”

“I was going to if you hadn’t tugged me down and nearly caused me to break a bone.”

“I was trying to pull you to the side. You’re the one who went down.”

“Semantics.”

  
  
“I don’t mean to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team. When it comes to running, of course. I save your life from a horrific bicycle accident, and you, well, I’m not sure what you do.”

Emma sucks in a deep breath before exhaling and twisting her head to the side. Killian’s already looking at her, lips pressed into a soft smile, and he reaches over toward her until his fingers are brushing against her skin as he tucks loose tendrils of her hair behind her ear

Did she just get a chill or was that her sweat drying?

Getting her sports bra off is practically going to be impossible. At least she can do it in privacy.

Sports bras are obviously both the best and the worst.

“I kick your ass in races.”

Killian laughs, finger brushing against her cheek again. Her body is basically a puddle now. “I’ll buy our smoothies, Swan, but you have to agree to let me take you out for your birthday next week.”

“How do you even know my birthday is next week?”

“It was on our annulment papers.”

“Oh.”

Killian twist over until he’s on his side and propping his chin up in his hand and tapping his temple. “I know you may not remember things, at least according to your manager, but I do have an excellent brain up here.”  
  


“I’m ignoring you basically calling yourself a genius because I have to ask: when the hell did you talk to Mary Margaret?”

“Last week. Ariel was talking to her on the phone at a shoot, and they got to talking about how I’m reliable while you are not.”

  
  
“I have only missed one appointment, but Mary Margaret holds onto that and brings it up every time I almost forget something. It was for an understandable reason, too.”

“And what was that?”

Emma blinks, and her mind catches up to what she just said. Shit.

“It was nothing.”

“Oh, no, it was definitely something. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Yeah, well, inquiring minds don’t get to know.”

Emma quickly gets up from the ground, moving so quickly that she’s dizzy, but she doesn’t want to be lounging on the grass any longer. People are running by them, dirty shoes near her face, and she doesn’t even want to think about how many animals have relieved themselves where she was just resting her face.

She doesn’t want to think about anything other than getting some calories in her, taking a shower, and meeting Ruby at Flock so they can shoot next month’s catalog of clothes for the website.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, but she keeps on walking. “Swan! Love! Emma!”

“Not in the mood, Jones.”

“You were two minutes ago, and I cannot figure out what I possibly could have done to piss you off in that time.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I obviously did something.”

“Can’t you for once just do what I say and leave me alone?”  
  


“Perhaps if you had actually told me to bloody leave you alone.”

Emma quickly turns on her heels to look at him. She nearly smacks herself into his chest, but she doesn’t need another collision with him, not today.

“Killian,” she says slowly, “leave me alone.”

His gaze doesn’t move away from hers, deep blue staring at her and making her want to back away, but she doesn’t. In the back of her mind, she knows he’s done nothing wrong, that he isn’t the one who’s actually pissed her off, but he’s here. What better excuse is there than that?

“If that’s what you want,” he begins, leaning down and giving her a mocking bow with a flourish of his hand, “then that’s what I’ll do.”

-/-

“This is the smallest piece of fabric I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve seen your underwear drawer, Ems. I know that’s not true.”

Emma rolls her eyes at Ruby and tugs on the top, adjusting it until it covers her boobs. How this boutique expects any normal person to be able to wear this piece of fabric is beyond her.

“It’s ridiculous,” Emma continues, still trying to tug it down, “and this is supposedly a winter sweater. Has anyone here ever actually experienced a winter in Boston? This isn’t going to cut it.”

“Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”

“That’s a disgusting phrase.”

“It’s obviously very apt today, though.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a liar.”

“No, I’m just cold.”

Emma turns on her heels and walks back out in front of the camera and the white wall as the photographer and the owner of the boutique wait for she and Ruby to be ready. Emma does the standard poses, flipping her hair and fake laughing, and then she trades off with Ruby until they’ve both gone through the entire catalog of clothes that were on the racks in the side of the warehouse.

This is the weirdest job, and she’s honestly not sure that she enjoys it much anymore. That seems like a problem for a day where she’s not already pissed off at the world.

“I will buy you lunch if you tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“Nope,” Emma sighs, tugging on her coat and fluffing her hair out as they get ready to leave the warehouse. “You cannot bribe me.”

“Okay, but what if we go back to my place, and I make Granny’s onion ring recipe?”

Emma stops and turns to Ruby, her eyes narrowing at Ruby’s wolfish grin. “You’re evil.”

“But you love me.”

  
  
“That’s debatable.”

“Nah,” Ruby sighs, wrapping her arm around Emma’s shoulder, “it’s really not.”

They walk the fifteen minutes to Ruby and Mulan’s apartment, the chill of the air nipping at Emma’s nose, but once they’re inside and the heat is on and there’s that wonderful smell of onion rings and grilled cheese being cooked, Emma’s no longer freezing. She’s warm and calm and maybe she doesn’t have to be as pissy as she has been today.

“So, Mulan says you haven’t come to class in a few weeks.”

Ruby says it casually, doesn’t even bother to turn around, but Emma knows that this is the beginning of her fishing into what Emma has been doing. The woman isn’t sly at all.

“I’ve been doing other things.”

“Other things or…men?”

“Running. I’ve been running, Rubes.”

“Mhm, and you wouldn’t happen to be running every day with a very handsome man that makes me thankful that I am interested in both men and women while poor souls like you only get men?”

Emma huffs into her glass of water. “How could you possibly know about that?”

“Because I, too, avoid my girlfriend’s Pilates studio and like to go running that path sometimes.”

Well, shit. She didn’t think anyone really knew she was doing that.

“We both run. We happen to run into each other. It’s a thing.”

Ruby turns around and arches a brow, cocking her head to the side. “What’d he do to piss you off today? Might as well just skip to that question.”

“He didn’t piss me off.”

“You don’t get onion rings if you don’t tell the truth.”  
  
“Screw you.”

“That was the deal.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not very good at keeping deals.”

Ruby sighs and plates another few onion rings before turning the stove off so that the cackling of the grease quiets down. “You’re going on runs with the man that you married.” Emma opens her mouth, but Ruby holds her finger up. “Yeah, I know about that. You know Marg can’t keep things to herself. I also know that if you want to shake him off, you wouldn’t be spending so much voluntary time with him. So did he actually do something to piss you off that I need to kick his ass for, or is this just Emma being Emma?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means.”

Emma ignores her and reaches up to take an onion ring only for Ruby to hold the plate away from her. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Sighing, Emma crosses her arms over her chest and leans back on the barstool. She was pretty sure Ruby was joking about Emma having to talk about her mood, but apparently, she wasn’t.

“Nothing is wrong with me.”

“Yeah, and I’m a rocket scientist.”

“You could be.”

“Emma, do you like your husband? Is that what’s freaking you out?”

“He is _not_ my husband.”

“You’re evading the question.”

“No,” she mumbles, “I’m not, and no, I don’t like Killian. I guess I just slept on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Can I have my onion rings now? The full plate?”

Ruby’s brow stays arched until it falls so it can furrow with her other one. “Do you really not want to talk about it?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about.”

-/-

Emma’s a liar.

She’s a lying liar who lies, but she’s not about to admit that to anyone other than her glass of wine and the can of icing that she’s eating. However many calories she burned today don’t matter because she’s consumed all of them since this afternoon.

It’s totally been worth it.

Mostly.

She can’t binge watch Poldark and not drink wine and eat icing, right? That would just be stupid.

Her phone buzzes on the couch cushion next to her.

**Killian Jones:** I owe you a smoothie. Is there a chance I can buy you one tomorrow?

Shit. Of course he’s texting her.

And of course he’s being nice.

The man knows exactly how to be an ass. Can’t he be one of those right now?

Can’t she not want to text him back?

**Emma Swan:** I feel like I should be the one buying you one since I was so bitchy today.

**Killian Jones:** I wouldn’t say that.

**Killian Jones:** Because I think you’d murder me if I did.

**Killian Jones:** And also because it’s not true.

Emma snorts into her wine, taking another sip, and then leaning forward to put the glass on her coffee table.

**Emma Swan:** It was true. You can say it.

**Killian Jones:** I’d rather you not kick my ass. You could do it anyways, but training already beat me down today. I’m in a weakened state.

**Emma Swan:** That bad, huh?

**Killian Jones:** It was like I ran for six hours without stopping while also having to climb over obstacles and have men my own age yelling at me while twenty-one years old just ran by with no hesitations.

She laughs again before stretching back onto the couch. She should crawl back into bed and get herself comfortable, let herself fall asleep, but this is pretty comfortable too.

**Killian Jones:** But I love it.

**Emma Swan:** Yeah?

**Killian Jones:** It’s awful, but I also feel like I have a purpose, you know? I’ve wanted this for so long.

Emma’s heartrate picks up, and she closes her eyes and drops her phone to her chest. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have some kind of great want that’s driven her life. She’s always been a foster kid, someone who isn’t sure what’s coming around the corner, and even when she aged out of the system, she still didn’t know. There was Neal and jail and…he ruined her life. Neal ruined her fucking life. He took away her choice for her life, and even though she’s doing okay now, she could be doing better. It’s not something she wants to think about because a decade has gone by since then, since he abandoned her like most everyone else has, but rarely a day goes by where he doesn’t come up in some way.

But really, it hasn’t been a decade. It’s been three years since he showed up at her apartment door, finding her somehow, and acted like not a day had gone by, like he hadn’t done this awful thing to her and like she must still love him.

She didn’t then.

She doesn’t now.

Neal will always be her first love and the person who loved her first, and what a shame that is.

That’s why she missed her shoot that day. Mary Margaret had been pissed, had gotten angry with Emma for maybe the first time ever, but then she’d sobbed into Mary Margaret’s shoulder as everything in her life felt like it was falling apart.

Again.

And here she is letting Neal worm his way into her thoughts again, into her life. He’s not around anymore. She doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life, and he really doesn’t deserve to occupy so much space. She’s been doing it for years, wearing these pretty white dresses at least once a week and pretending to be someone who could even think about getting married when it’s never been what she wanted, not after him.

Not even with Graham.

Maybe one day she’ll figure out how to move on completely and how to leave Neal in the past where he belongs.

She’s got to get out of this headspace before she drinks herself into an oblivion, so she opens her eyes and looks back at her phone. No one can see her face or hear her thoughts, and even if she is absolutely terrified of Killian Jones, he’s the only thing that’s making her feel remotely safe right now.

**Emma Swan:** I’m happy for you!

**Killian Jones:** Thank you, love.

**Killian Jones:** Did I tell you about the guy who is now wearing an eye patch because of an unfortunate fall on the rope climb?

**Emma Swan:** This sounds like the beginning of a really bad high school soap opera.

**Killian Jones:** Oh, but it’s even better than that.

Killian tells her the story, as well as several others from his first few weeks at the Academy, and Emma distracts herself with it, finding that it’s easy to get lost in Killian’s stories. Even texting, he has a way with words that has her easily being swept up into the conversation so that her lips tug at the corners and there’s a smile permanently press into her skin. He’s funny and charming and he deals with her shit even when he shouldn’t. He should run away and never look back.

The thought causes her breath to hitch and her chest to pang and…

Maybe Ruby was right. Maybe she does have a thing for Killian.

Oh shit.


	8. Chapter Eight

“I am so bloody exhausted that nothing could keep me awake.”

“Have you tried caffeine?”

“Three cups of coffee.”

“Ah,” Ariel sighs, “you need a nap. If three cups of coffee aren’t working, you’re beyond the point of caffeine helping.”

“Can’t nap,” Killian yawns, his eyes watering. “I’ve got to study these laws for my practical tomorrow and then head over to Emma’s.”

Ariel clicks her tongue.

“What, A?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She pauses, and unlike Ariel, Killian holds his tongue. She’s obviously about to tease the hell out of him. He knows that without even having to see her face. “It’s just that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Emma lately, and you’re going over to her apartment for her birthday. That seems like kind of a big deal.”

“Aren’t you also going over to her apartment for her birthday?”

“I am.”

“Well, you don’t see me making it a thing with you going.”

“That’s because I don’t have a _thing_ for Emma.”

“I do not have a _thing_ for Emma.”

“I wish you could see my face right now. I’m majorly rolling my eyes.”

“I can imagine it. I’ve seen it enough times.” Killian sighs and leans back on the couch, closing his eyes and pinching his nose with his free hand. “Emma and I are friends, and she mentioned the thing tonight that Mary Margaret and Ruby are having at her place. I was supposed to take her out for dinner anyways, so this kills two birds with one stone.”

“Wow. You’re such a romantic,” she jokes. “You should take her out for dinner anyway. She’d love that.”

“I will see you tonight, love,” Killian tells her as another yawn takes over. “Try not to be an asshole while we’re there.”

“No promises. You should bring her flowers. I can ask Mary Margaret what her favorites are for you.”

Ariel hangs up before he can protest, and he’s left sitting in the silence of his apartment. Will is at the bar working a double today, and it’s quieter than usual without his nagging and curses under his breath about every little thing. Killian’s thirty years old. He really shouldn’t still be living with a roommate, especially when he can afford his own place, but living on his own has always been few and far between.

After Liam died, his apartment felt barren and like it could never be full again. Everything was full of Liam from the items in the fridge to the novels on the shelf. When Milah moved in shortly afterward, the place had been full of Milah and her clothes and the smell of her perfume on every pillow in the place. He thought maybe, just maybe, having her around more would make the emptiness better. But then she’d left, and the only trace of her was the ring she left on the kitchen countertop.

Maybe he needs his own place where everything is his and his alone. That might be nice for a change.

**Emma Swan:** Did you know Boston is named after Boston, England? I feel like that’s a sign or something for you being here.

Killian snickers and drops his phone to his chest before picking it up.

**Killian Jones:** Why do you know that?

**Emma Swan:** I got a pamphlet listing fun facts about Boston with my lunch takeout.

**Killian Jones:** Fancy.

**Emma Swan:** I know. You still coming tonight?

**Killian Jones:** Aye.

**Emma Swan:** I’ll have to regale you with more facts about Boston.

**Killian Jones:** I look forward to it.

-/-

He brought her flowers like an idiot.

They’re lilies with a few other flowers and stems mixed in. Killian’s always enjoyed flowers, but he’s never taken the time to know anything more than the most basic of brands. He didn’t know what Emma liked, didn’t want to ask someone despite Ariel’s offer, but the damn thing was what put the idea in his head. Emma specifically said no gifts, but he showed up with a gift card to their smoothie place and flowers.

What the hell is this woman doing to him that he actually wants to do things like that again?

Possibly making him crazy while also driving him crazy with how she looks tonight.

Emma’s wearing a white sweater that dips down her back, showing the curve of her spine and the freckles on her back until it stops right over the curve off her ass that’s shown off by a pair of sinfully tight jeans. He’s not sure how the damn sweater is staying on or how she even managed to get those bloody jeans on. All he knows is she looks absolutely stunning, and if he stays in this apartment for much longer, he won’t be able to handle himself.

As if he’s fifteen and not thirty.

And there’s not a lot of places for him to look around. Emma lives in a studio apartment, and as spacious and open as it is, it is still one big room with what he assumes is a bathroom in the back.

What has he gotten himself into with this woman?

If he asks himself that question enough, maybe he’ll figure out an answer.

“If it isn’t the husband,” Ruby exclaims when she sees him, and Emma quickly turns around so he can see her face. It’s no less distracting than the view of her from behind. “Fancy you coming to your wife’s birthday party.”

“Is this going to be the joke we all make all night long?”

“You two got drunk and got married in Vegas. I have to make fun of it every single day. It’s the greatest thing.”

“For the record,” David starts, “I don’t think it’s the greatest thing.”

“David, right?”

“Yes.”

Killian sticks his hand out to shake David’s, but the man doesn’t take it. Instead he crosses his arms over his chest and stares Killian down. Well, this is certainly going great. His wife is obviously the nicer one.

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles, walking over toward them and slapping the back of David’s head, “don’t be a dumbass. I’m an adult, you’re not my guardian, and every person in this room knows my history with Killian. We fucked, we drunkenly got married, and now I kick his ass on our morning runs. Does anyone have anything else they’d like to say?”

“I mean, I’d say that we made love, not – ” Emma turns to slap him this time, and he deserves it. He was fully expecting her to do that. In response, he dips down and brushes his lips over her cheek. “Happy birthday, Swan.”

“Thank you, asshole.”

“The flowers are for you.”

She takes them out of his hand and examines them, a small smile still pressed to her lips. “They’re beautiful and definitely against the no gift policy.”

“Cut the man some slack,” Ruby huffs. “He’s just trying to woo his wife with flowers.”

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret interrupts, “do you not have any plates?”

“Of course I have plates. They’re…shit. I don’t have enough plates. Someone text Ariel and ask her to pick some up before she gets here.”

“How do you not have enough plates for eight people?”

“I live by myself and don’t have much company. I don’t need eight plates.”

“You knew we were coming over.”

“I was also told that you would take care of everything since I didn’t want to do anything big to celebrate.”

“And I am, but pregnancy brain is a very real thing.”

“Your wife is pregnant, mate?” Killian asks David, not wanting to intrude on Mary Margaret’s conversation with Emma. “Congratulations. That’s wonderful!”

David is still studying him, and Killian might as well have committed some unspeakable crime. Eventually, though, the corners of his lips turn up. It’s very obviously got little to do with Killian, though, and everything to do with his love for his wife. “Thank you. We’re excited.”

“Alright, lover boy,” Ruby sighs as she wraps her arm around his shoulder, “I’m going to save you from David. Mulan wants to talk to you about how you’ve been keeping Emma out of her gym.”

“I feel like that’s not a safer conversation.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not. You were not smart for showing up here.”

He’s definitely in over his depth when it comes to all of Emma’s friends, and while David should terrify him the most, he thinks Ruby might take that crown.

“I’m starting to pick up on that.”

His life gets significantly easier when Ariel and Eric show up, especially since they come with a small bag of paper plates so everyone can start eating, and with more people there, less attention is on him. He rarely shies away from it, can usually handle it, but he doesn’t know Emma’s friends enough to be truly comfortable with it all.

That is until everyone – except Mary Margaret of course – gets a drink or two into them and is full of lasagna and overly sweet cake. They all settle in Emma’s living room area, Ariel and Eric on two barstools from the kitchen, Ruby and Mulan sitting on the bed, Mary Margaret and David sharing an oversized chair, and he and Emma sitting on her couch. Emma’s got her feet curled underneath her and her head propped up in her hand. She looks relaxed, comfortable even, and it’s a wonderful thing to see after the last time he saw her.

They haven’t managed to go on their runs in the past week. He’s been too tired from training and she’s had shoots in New York and in Connecticut, and the last time he physically saw her he’d taken his teasing too far and tried to get her to share information she wasn’t ready to share. They seemed to have mended things over their texts, but he could never be sure until now.

Three months ago when he knocked on this front door and had it slammed in his face, he never could have imagined he’d be so willingly let inside.

That he’d be _invited_ inside.

It’s easy to get swept up in the way that everyone here is comfortable with each other. Even with Ariel and Eric here, he’s the odd man out, but that doesn’t matter as he gets to hear stories of Emma and her adventures with tequila, a pair of heels that were one size too small, and she, Ruby, and Mary Margaret having to hide under a table in a bar from a man who was not too happy with Mary Margaret losing her dinner over his shoes.

“That doesn’t sound like you at all, Mary Margaret,” Ariel snickers.

Mary Margaret shrugs. “Give me some tequila, and you can see that side of me.”

“After the baby is born, we’re going out then.”

It’s fun and relaxing, and Killian likes learning more about this woman who slowly but surely is allowing him to know and understand her layers. He doesn’t know much about her past, but he knows how she is now: funny and graceful and fiercely protective of the people she loves.

As well as a badass runner who likes hazelnut in her coffee and smoothies and spends far too much time trying to decide what to watch on TV until she ends up not watching anything at all.

How did they get so lucky to have to work together at that convention? It could have been any two people who work in this insane industry, but all of the bumps and stops and goddamn roadblocks enabled him to meet her.

He’s so damn screwed when it comes to her.

Killian looks down to see Emma’s fingers ghosting over his wrist and moving up and down his forearm until she’s messing with the rolled up cuffs of his flannel shirt. He doesn’t even think she knows she’s doing it. She’s been slowly inching closer to him all night, and he can feel every single breath that he’s taking.

He’s got training in the morning, so while he’s only had two beers, he might as well be drunk on Emma.

And really, he should get up and leave. Everyone else has left, giving their excuses and saying their goodbyes over an hour ago, but he’s stayed and kept watching episode after episode of Friday Night Lights. Mary Margaret had put it on. It’s older, but it’s apparently what she’s been watching while working lately.

“I know I didn’t attend high school in America, but is this what it was like?”

“I was a foster kid. I didn’t exactly have the quintessential high school experience. I don’t know, maybe if you’re athletic and look like you’re thirty when you’re sixteen.”

“Those are actors, love.”

Emma scoffs and squeezes her nails into his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. So this wasn’t what it was like for you?”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head from side to side. “God no. I – ” She stops, turning to look at him, before looking away and moving her hand down his arm again. She’s going to mark him with her nails if she keeps this up. “It’s nothing.”

“What? You can tell me? You were secretly prom queen, weren’t you? Did you play a preppy sport? Or were you on the debate team? You’re damn good at arguing. I mean – ”

“I slept with an older guy who apparently had a thing for girls much too young for him and got arrested for his dumbass crimes that he fucking framed me for, so I didn’t get the high school experience like these obviously too old actors.”

Wait. Where the hell did that come from?

“Swan – ”

“I think it’s so ironic that one of the only jobs I’ve been able to get because of Neal is modeling wedding dresses. He made me not want to ever get married, and yet here I am having to pretend I believe in some kind of happily ever after. What if I’d wanted to go to college? What if I’d wanted to be a cop or a teacher or something? What if I didn’t have to check the box on job applications that says I’ve got a felony to my name? But it’s fine. It’s normal. It happened, and I don’t care.”

She likely doesn’t even hear how contradictory she’s being.

He’d like to punch that asshole and break his nose so badly it can never be repaired. Of all of the shitty things that have happened to him in his life, at least no one ever ruined his life for work. Any troubles he’s had have all been his own doing. He can be as fucked up as possible emotionally, but at least he can work wherever he wants.

At least he can follow his dreams.

At least he can be a regular human being without restrictions.

“What that bastard did to you isn’t normal, Emma.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.”

Emma stands from the couch and walks to the other side of the room, arms crossed over her chest as her feet keep moving back and forth. He has a feeling she’s going to be like this all night. He may not have been in the foster system, but he had a rubbish father who left him after he’d had to move countries to be with him and a mum and brother who both died. Birthdays haven’t been happy days for a long time, and if Emma is anything like him, her emotions are running a little higher than they would normally be.

Birthdays aren’t truly the same when you haven’t lived your entire life having someone to celebrate them with.

The two large glasses of wine swirling around in Emma’s stomach likely won’t help. At least she hasn’t had any tequila.

“You know,” Killian starts, figuring he might as well just go for it. He’s nowhere near buzzed, alcohol not giving him any liquid courage, but Emma makes him want to let her know him. Something about her makes him want to share, and he’s never been able to pinpoint what it is. “I was with someone for a long time.”

She stops pacing and turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Aye. She was brilliant and beautiful, and without getting too much into it, I proposed to her. For months she wore the ring on her finger. She had been with me before Liam died and when Liam died, she was the only thing that kept me from…she kept me from lashing out at the world, and then one day she left the ring on the kitchen counter with a note telling me she was going back to her husband and her child. I didn’t know they existed, but looking back, I should have seen the signs. So, the not wanting to get married part, I get that.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“People are such assholes.”

“You’re speaking a lot of damn truths tonight.”

Emma huffs and then walks back toward him until she plops down onto the couch and shifts. “I’m sorry about your fiancée.”

“I’m sorry that bastard did what he did to you.”

“It’s okay.”

Killian knows that it’s not and that Emma knows it’s not, but if this is the way she wants to deal with things, he can’t change that. Just because he wants to channel his anger and his disappointment over life into some kind of action doesn’t mean Emma wants to. And the way that she’s biting her lip and tapping her leg makes him think maybe she doesn’t want to talk at all right now.

That’s fine. He can be the one to fill the silence, not that they really need that. So he tells her of his mum and her kindness and the way she would sing him lullabies even as he grew older. He tells her of his father and the way he left and how Liam was basically his father despite only being five years older than him. He tells her the simplified version of most everything, at least the big moments, but as easily as it was to fall into spilling his heart, it’s even easier to fall back into talking about the simple things: favorites movies and hobbies and telling stories about their friends or the weird things that have happened to them on the job. Neither of them have made their livings in a conventional way, and it will never not be nice to talk about how insane the industry could be.

“So what do you want to do, Swan? If you could do anything.”

It’s verging into dangerous territory, and he fully expects Emma to tell him to shove the leftover birthday cake he’s eating up his ass.

She shrugs. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

“Try me.”

Emma hums as she scoops up a glob of yellow icing and licks her fork clean. Killian shifts to adjust his jeans. She’s eating cake. He should not in any way be thinking about how her lips wrap around the fork.

It’s two in the morning. His thoughts are not his own.

He’s really getting old if two in the morning feels this late to him, but it’s that time of the night where the world is muted in a way. Either every noise is cause for alarm or nothing quite seems real, a place between sleep and awake where there could be something new at every turn.

Where there could be a new set of green eyes that aren’t actually new and a silhouette he hasn’t yet learned to trace and where things might actually work out for him for once.

If only, if only.

“I don’t know,” Emma sighs after about a minute of silence. “Maybe I’d want to work with foster kids, tell them that it gets better even when it doesn’t. Maybe I’d like to be a cop like you or David or Graham. I always say I would never, but I think it could be interesting. Maybe I could do something a little less emotional and be a freaking party planner or be an Instagram Influencer and promote, like, charities instead of one-hundred-dollar lipstick. I don’t know. I don’t…I’ve never thought about it because nothing has ever felt like a possibility.”

“You know, some people will see how young you were on this record and see that it’s non-violent, and they will give you an opportunity because it’s been a decade. You could try to get your record expunged or even sealed since I’m assuming it’s not. And then when you decide that you want to quit modeling for every wedding dress designer and boutique in New England, you can find something else you love.”

“Can I be a professional birthday cake eater?”

Killian leans his head back with laughter. “I’ll look into that for you. I’m sure there’s something like that.”

“That would be the dream.” Emma huffs and turns her head to hide her smile. “Are you scared the same thing is going to happen to you? That happened to Liam?”

He swallows as his heart races that little bit quicker. He wasn’t expecting that. He’s never expected that despite thinking the question himself almost daily. “Aye. I know the risks. I know the possibility. But if there’s one thing you need to know about me, Swan, it’s that I’m a survivor.”

“Good.”

They both end up eating two more slices of cake, something he regrets no later than fifteen minutes after putting his plate down, but he soon forgets it all as they sleepily watch a movie, the flickering of the television lights now the only thing illuminating the room and casting Emma in a subtle glow. He should get up and go home. It wouldn’t take much, no longer than ten minutes, but with the heat of Emma’s body radiating toward him and little strands of her hair tickling his skin, he can’t find the motivation to be anywhere but here.

_Bloody hell._

They’ve spent the night together once before, but he got up and left before she could wake up. That feels like a lifetime ago, and he doesn’t think he’d make the mistake of walking away again.

“Killian?”

“Yeah, love?”

Emma leans forward so he gets a glance of her bare back, her sweater having shifted even more. “Do you think you’d ever change your mind about not wanting to get married?”

Tonight is full of all of the questions, he guesses. All he hopes is that she doesn’t regret this in the morning.

“I imagine if I met the right person, maybe. I’ve never been completely opposed to marriage or falling in love again. I think, maybe, I simply needed reminding that I could.”

If he fell in love again.

If he trusted again.

If he felt the way he’s feeling right now where his stomach can’t seem to settle and his mind is pretty much the same.

She blinks at him, her mouth parted and the smallest bit of yellow icing on the corner of her lips. Without thinking, he reaches forward and thumbs it away as little sparks of electricity move from his fingertip up his arm and eventually down his spine, joining in on his unsettled stomach and the nerves that can’t seem to settle. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her. How many times has he thought that? Tonight and this week and over the past few months. The night they met they couldn’t keep their hands – or their mouths to be honest – off each other, but now, every touch burns him alive.

There’s so much at stake, so much to lose, and he never thought this woman would be anything more than one night.

He never thought she might be the one to remind him that not everything about love is terrible. He’s not there yet, but he could be.

It’s all in the possibility.

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, falling back to the couch so her shoulder hits his and the outside of her thigh brushes his thigh. He can feel the heat of her skin through his jeans even more now, and he’s thankful that she was the one to move first and stop their staring contest. “I guess I can understand that.”

-/-

There’s a bang of a door and Killian startles awake.

He blinks, looking around at the blurred furniture only to realize this is Emma’s apartment. Shit. He fell asleep.

Shit. He’s got to be at training in…he looks down at his phone on the coffee table.

_Fuck._

He’s got to be at training for his exams in twenty minutes.

Quickly, he grabs his phone, sticking it in the pocket of his jeans, hitting there to make sure he has his wallet and his keys, and his mind is in such a panic that he doesn’t notice that Emma hasn’t moved from her spot by the door until he’s standing in front of her trying to walk out.

His breath has got to be horrible right now.

“Emma, sweetheart, I’ve got to – wait, what’s wrong?”

She blinks up at him, her green eyes bright even with the smudged and flecked mascara underneath her eyes, and he’s so entranced by her that all he wants, even now, is to lean down and softly brush her lips over and feel the gloriousness of her mouth once more. That feeling has only been in dreams for so long, but it was real once, even if the circumstances were different.

“N-nothing,” she stutters, backing up to the door. “It’s just that, um, I went and got my mail because I hadn’t in a few days, and our annulment papers came in. We’re officially no longer married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma, Killian, and alcohol. I feel like we still haven't decided if it's a good combination or a bad one 😉


	9. Chapter Nine

Damn.

Her neck is killing her. There’s definitely a crick or a pull or something there that wasn’t there when she fell asleep last night and…

Emma’s eyes quickly open, taking in the plates and cups and half-eaten cake that are all sitting on her coffee table. The sun is peeking through her curtains, and the bright light blinds her enough that she’s turning and twisting her head to the solid body next to her.

_The solid body next to her._

What the actual hell?

When did she fall asleep? When did Killian fall asleep? Did he spend the night here? Did she have a lot to drink last night? No, no she didn’t. There was wine, but there wasn’t _a lot_. Maybe two glasses which was enough to have her buzzed. She’s been careful with how much she’s had to drink because she never wants to drink too much so that everything is a hazy, gap-filled memory.

She never wants to drink enough that she can’t remember getting freaking married.

Which is exactly why she remembers everything that happened last night. She remembers sharing things she hasn’t shared in a long time, and she remembers Killian sharing about his brother and his parents and Milah.

Oh shit.

They really talked about her record and getting it expunged and possibly seeing if she could become a freaking Instagram Influencer. Her? As an Instagram Influencer? That’s ridiculous. The thought alone makes her laugh out loud, even if Killian made a good point about her using the following she does have to try to bring awareness to charities and issues and…no, that’s ridiculous.

It was her idea, but no. Just no.

But maybe she could look into working with a charity all on her own, start small, build into something when she stops being the age these boutiques and designers want for their models. She doesn’t know. It’s…she just started thinking about possibilities outside of her current line of work, and, well, trying to decide on a career path is harder than she thought she would be.

It’s a start.

Maybe.

Damn. She and Killian really covered all of the bases.

And she enjoyed it and felt comfortable, and the feeling of Killian’s hand pressing up underneath her sweater right now is warm and _comfortable_. It’s nice is what it is, and Emma isn’t accustomed to nice.

She’s not accustomed to any of this, even when she’s had it in the past, multiple times even. But each time it’s felt rare and slightly broken. Maybe that’s just her. Maybe she’s not made for nice and happy and comfortable.

There’s the slightest, smallest part of her that wishes maybe she could have those things, but that’s not anything she should be fooling herself with now.

Carefully, she pulls back from Killian’s shoulder and studies his face. He hasn’t shaved in a few too many days. The light spots of red and brown are coming in and overpowering the dark stubble he usually has, especially with the light shining on his face, a ray reflecting off of him so that the scar underneath his eye is accentuated and she can once again be jealous at how stupidly long his eyelashes are.

He’s beautiful. She remembers thinking on the day they met that he was hot. She couldn’t think of any other words, but now she knows that he’s beautiful.

  
Emma also knows that this is a dangerous game that she’s playing, and she needs to step away.

(She doesn’t know if she can.)

Right now, though, she can’t let herself stay in Killian’s embrace on her couch. She needs to be up and moving and decidedly not this close to him when he wakes up. She knows exactly what it’s like to be this close to Killian. She knows how he kisses and how it feels when he’s inside of her and...

“Okay,” Emma says to herself as she moves only for Killian to twitch beside her. She freezes, watches him fall back asleep, and then decides that she needs to officially move and to get some air.

And maybe go get her mail. It’s been a few days since she got it, and going outside to the boxes will allow her to get some air.

Yeah, mail seems like a good idea.

There’s likely mascara smudged on her cheeks and her hair is a tangled mess, and she’s sure if she runs into the snarky old woman in 3B that she’ll have something to say about Emma’s appearance. She always does, even when Emma wasn’t up late and sleeping in her makeup, but Emma doesn’t care.

She never has. People are always judging her. Her job is literally just people judging her, and she doesn’t give a shit anymore. People have been telling her who she is for her entire life, and she’s not putting up with that anymore.

Maybe the wine from last night is still lingering.

Emma takes the stairs down to the lobby, wishing she was in something other than a pair of slippers with horrible gripping, and pushes out the side doors of the building until she’s in the courtyard where the mailboxes are. There’s no one around except for someone walking their dog, and Emma turns her face until she’s at the mailboxes and turning her key.

“Bill, bill, junk,” she mutters shifting through everything, “Boston Probate and Family Court. What is that – oh shit.”

Her throat constricts, and suddenly Emma can’t feel herself breathing. She knows that she is, that she hasn’t dropped dead yet, and her heartbeat is so damn loud that it sounds like drums are playing inside of her head.

This is it. This is what she’s been waiting months for, and she forgot about it.

How did she forget about this when she has seen Killian almost daily for a month and a half? How did she forget about this when it’s a constant joke among her friends and…how did she forget?

This is all she’s wanted, and it’s _still_ what she wants. It’s just – she doesn’t know what has this pit forming in her stomach.

Sighing, Emma opens up the envelope and reads over the papers. She doesn’t understand what most of it means, but she understands the gist of it all.

She’s no longer married, and in the eyes of the law, she never was.

Good. That’s really good.

There’s a bang of a door, and Emma startles only to see the snippy old woman from 3B walking out toward the mailbox. Shit. She is not in the mood today, and she will punch her in the face if she says something about Emma’s appearance. Quickly, she slams her box shut, turns the key, and then practically sprints across the courtyard until she’s back inside and quickly walking up the stairs until she’s back in her apartment and completely out of breath.

For the two minutes that it took her to get back to her apartment, she forgot. She forgot the papers in her hands and the implications behind them, and why the hell would Killian stay now if he has no reason to?

When did she start wanting him to stay? For real and not simply as some thought in the back of her mind.

But she does want that.

And he’s not going to stay.

Why would he?

“Emma, sweetheart, I’ve got to – wait, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice throaty and coated with sleep. She likes the sound of it like that. She wishes she could hear it like that more.

She can’t.

Emma blinks up at Killian, at the incredible, stupid blue of his eyes and the way he has pillow creases on his cheeks and how is hair is still mussed. She hasn’t realized that he’d moved from the couch or that he’d gotten so close to her. He’s staring down at her, his lips parted, and it would be so easy to press up on her toes and move her lips against his, to feel the overgrown scruff and to…

“N-nothing,” she stutters, backing up to the door, and shaking herself out of her thoughts. Her stupid, stupid thoughts. “It’s just that, um, I went and got my mail because I hadn’t in a few days and our annulment papers came in. We’re officially no longer married.”

Both of his brows shoot to his hairline. “What now?”

“These are our annulment papers. They came through and got approved, so, you know, that’s a good thing, I guess.”

“That’s…well, that’s bloody brilliant, Swan.” And then, before she has a moment to breathe, Killian is reaching forward and embracing her. He’s as warm as he was this morning when she woke up, and Emma wants to stay here forever. It’s safe and calm and she won’t be assaulted by all of the thoughts that are coming at her faster than she can swat them away. “You’re undoubtedly the best wife I’ve ever had, but I can’t say I’m not bloody relieved. Should we celebrate?”

Emma’s arms wrap tighter around his waist, hoping he doesn’t realize even as his nose buries itself in her neck. It may be the only cold thing about him.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to celebrate?”

“I don’t know.”

Killian laughs and pulls back from her until he’s tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. He’s about to say something, and she doesn’t know what it’s going to be. But there’s this swirling in her stomach and tightness of her throat as she stands and waits for what’s about to happen.

“I have to go,” he suddenly blurts out. “I-I apologize, love, but I have to go. I’ll text you later.”

“Oh, yeah, I – ”

“Later, Swan,” he quickly says, stepping away from her and around her until he’s opening the front door and leaving her apartment in the blink of an eye.

And just like that she’s left in her apartment with nothing but the remnants of her birthday party remaining.

The flowers Killian brought her on her kitchen counter included.

What the hell just happened?

Where did Killian go?

These aren’t really questions she wants answers to, and needing a distraction, she decides that she needs to clean. This place is a mess and is full of the mess from yesterday, and she doesn’t want that anymore. She wants clean and organized and everything she’s usually not.

She _needs_ all of that.

Killian hurried off and left, and that’s that. It doesn’t matter to her. It’s not like he was supposed to stay around all morning and eat breakfast. That would be too much for her, for both of them, and really, they’re no longer married and there was no need for him to stay.

What there is a need is for her to vacuum her rug and to throw away these plates and to possibly go grocery shopping for fruit and vegetables and everything that is the exact opposite of birthday cake.

Damn, that icing was good.

Within two hours, Emma’s apartment is spotless. It’s cleaner than it’s been since she first moved in, and maybe Mary Margaret has a point about cleaning a little every day so that things don’t pile up. Then again, Mary Margaret is an obsessive cleaner, which has only gotten worse since her pregnancy. There’s got to be something in between.

Emma finishes folding a pair of her leggings and turns to her bedside dresser, pulling the drawer open only to see an envelope, its contents spilling out into the drawer. She hasn’t seen these in almost two months and really, she nearly forgot that they existed.

That seems to be happening with her a lot lately.

The pictures very clearly do exist, though.

Emma’s wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater that hangs off her shoulder, a white bra peeking through underneath. Killian has on a pair of dark jeans, this old t-shirt she sees him favor all the time, and a leather jacket on top of it. If you just looked at their bodies, they’d look normal almost. This is how they dress nearly every day, but if you look a little higher, you can clearly see that Emma’s makeup is slightly smudged. It still looks great. Mary Margaret could be a professional makeup artist, and her makeup stays on for hours, but it’s definitely been through a day of work and a night of sex. The same with Emma’s hair. It’s not bad, but it’s also bushier than it usually would be, old hairspray causing extra volume. Killian’s hair is simply a mess, and she remembers running her hands through it right before the ceremony and…

Shit.

Does she remember part of that night?

No, she can’t. That would be impossible. It’s been months, and she’s never really remembered any of it. All she remembers of that day is working and the way that the wedding dress pinched her side. The vows seemed to go on forever, like she had to say them more than once, but then they were over and the reception started. She and Killian – oh shit.

After they slept together, they went down to the casino in the hotel, and Killian nearly got them kicked out because security thought he was counting cards. He wasn’t. He was just incredibly lucky and obviously a skilled card player, but then they…Emma doesn’t really know. The entire night was a haze, one that still hasn’t cleared, and Emma’s not sure what was acting for a job and what was real.

All she knows is that, no matter which memories become clear and which ones stay obscured, she is never drinking that much again.

She might want to stay out of Vegas for good measure.

Sighing, Emma starts putting the pictures back up only to stop on the last one, pulling it out. It’s she and Killian standing with that damn Elvis impersonator. Emma’s got her arms looped around Killian’s neck, holding on tightly, but he has his hands pressed against her cheeks as their mouths move over each other. She remembers how Killian kisses, remembers the tenderness mixed in with the passion, and that’s exactly what is happening here.

Or was. It’s what was happening.

Man, they were dumbasses.

Emma pulls her phone from her pocket to text Killian because she is apparently still a dumbass who likes to torture herself.

**Emma Swan:** Do you want to go for a run tonight?

She waits for the bubbles to pop up, for him to text back, and as she’s waiting she looks at the time. It’s eleven in the morning. He’s at the Academy training, and suddenly Emma feels like an absolute idiot for wondering why he rushed off like that and why he’s not texting her back as fast as he usually does.

He’s working. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

But then a reply never comes

And she doesn’t wait around for it all day. She doesn’t. That would be pathetic and needy, and Emma is not those two things. Her day is full of reading over contracts from Mary Margaret – something she does actually do – and going grocery shopping. She even stops by the studio and lets Mulan kick her ass at Pilates despite holding out hope that she’s still got a run to go on.

She doesn’t.

And the next morning when she goes to her usual path at the same time as always, Emma is surprised not to find Killian waiting for her. She starts running anyways, figuring he’ll catch up and join her like he always does, but then he never does. When she texts and asks him where he is, he responds hours later saying that his training has been crazy and that he simply hasn’t had time but will try to make it tomorrow.

She uses the gift card he gave her to buy her smoothie, and everything about it feels wrong.

The next day there’s a text waiting for her when she wakes up.

**Killian Jones:** I’m sorry, love. Training is kicking my ass, and my body needs a break. I’ve got exams all next week during our regular running time, so rain check?

“Rain check,” Emma whispers into her phone because she’s a crazy person talking to herself now.

She throws out his damn flowers only to dig them out of the trash later, the petals falling off.

Yeah, she’s definitely a crazy person now.

-/-

“Oh. My. God.”

“What?” Emma gasps, turning around to see where Mary Margaret is. “What’s wrong?”

Mary Margaret pops up from around a display shelf. She lifts a small outfit in the air. “Look at how cute this is.”

“I think your kid is a few months too young for that.”

  
  
“Yes, but she can wear it when she’s, um, six to twelve months.”

  
  
“You don’t even know that she’s a she.”

“Yeah, but there’s a fifty percent chance.”

Emma huffs and goes back to looking at the pair of earrings she was examining. They’ve been in this boutique for thirty minutes waiting for management to get back from a late lunch (extremely fucking late if Emma does say so), and she still hasn’t been able to figure out what exactly their specialty is. They’ve got baby clothes, dog beds, and regular, adult clothes, and those just don’t seem like things that go together.

“I thought you and David said you weren’t going spend money on anything that wasn’t necessary until you learned the gender for real.”

“But it’s so cute.”

  
  
“Marg.”

“Why are you insisting on ruining all my fun? First, you didn’t want to get something to eat, then you didn’t want to stop at Edmond’s to look at that pair of boots, and now you won’t let me waste twenty dollars on this adorable outfit. Seriously, did someone pee in your Cheerios this morning?”

“That is the grossest saying. Please don’t say that. Ruby says the same awful phrase.”

“See.” Mary Margaret places the outfit back on the shelf and crosses her arms over her chest as she arches her perfectly sculpted brows. How the woman maintains her brows so well is amazing. “You’re in a bad mood. Why are you in such a bad mood?”

“I am not in a bad mood.”

“Ah, yes, because slamming earrings down and scowling is the look of someone who is in a good mood.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a liar.”

A lying liar who lies.

“I,” Emma repeats, swallowing down every curse word she knows because Mary Margaret does not deserve that, “am fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m as happy as can be.”

Mary Margaret hums and walks closer to Emma until her hand is pressing down on her shoulder. “You’ve been like this since your birthday. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.”

“When we left, it was just you and Killian there. Did something happen with you two? Did you sleep with him again?”

“Why would having sex with Killian put me in a bad mood?”

Mary Margaret smiles before flattening out her lips. “Maybe he’s a bad lay.”

“Killian is not a bad lay.”

“So you did sleep with him?”

“No, I didn’t sleep with him. We didn’t sleep together. We are not together. We are not fuck buddies. We’re nothing.”

She let her voice get to shrill, allowed herself to say too much, and she turns around because she doesn’t want to look at Mary Margaret anymore. Instead, she’ll look at what is either a sweater for a dog or a baby. She honestly can’t tell.

“Emma, that wall of yours may keep out pain, but it may also keep out love.”

“You know, that’s absolute shit.” Emma turns on her heels and looks at Mary Margaret as her body thrums. “I have been in love before. Multiple times, actually, and I’ve gotten screwed over every time. Maybe some of it was my fault. Hell, I know it was my fault with Graham, but I am not the way I am for some unknown reason. And I’m tired of people calling me prickly for not falling into the open arms of every man who shows even the slightest bit of interest in me. Having feelings for someone isn’t simple. It’s terrifying, and I wish someone could understand that for just one minute instead of crucifying me for not automatically being open to it.”

  
  
“Emma, I – ”

She waves Mary Margaret away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I – ”

“No, you’re right. Of course you’re right, and I feel so stupid for not realizing it. I know what you’ve gone through. I mean, I didn’t experience it, so I can’t know how you felt. But you’re not me. You’re not Ruby or Mulan or even David. You’re you, and if you say that something scares you, it does. Love is scary.”

Emma nods her head as she swallows down the lump in her throat. She’s got this great group of people around her, but sometimes it’s still hard for her to know that people love her. it’s hard for her to feel like she’s being listened to and understood and not judged. The only person who she’s ever felt like truly listened has been Killian.

Killian, who she is prickly to but who would never say so.

Killian, who seems to have dropped off the face of the earth in the past two weeks.

Killian, who she misses despite telling herself not to.

“And you’re not prickly,” Mary Margaret continues. “You’re lovely, and I love you.”

Emma steps forward until her arms are wrapping around Mary Margaret’s and she’s feeling her embrace move over every inch of her. “I love you, too. I’ll try not to lose my mind in a shop when we’re waiting for a meeting again.”

“They’re forty-five minutes late. I say we both lose our minds.”

“You want to leave?”

“Hell yeah. They weren’t paying you well anyway.”

They end up going to get food and going shoe shopping like Emma wouldn’t agree to earlier, and it’s a little past seven by the time Emma gets home. It’s cold outside, the November wind whipping around, but Emma’s feeling energized and like she needs to go on a run. She hasn’t gone in a few days, and she needs the adrenaline high.

She’s craving it.

Her feet hit the pavement outside of her apartment, shocks running through her body, and she manages to dodge all of the pedestrians that are clogging up the pavement with their grocery bags and backpacks and their inability to walk in a straight line. She doesn’t usually like running through the city. It’s congested and unpleasant, but before she can stop herself, she knows exactly where she’s running.

Where she’s running to.

His apartment isn’t necessarily close to hers. It’s further than anyone should run, but she’s never been one to shy away from a challenge.

(Okay, she is, but not today.)

For the briefest of moments, Emma nearly stops herself from knocking on his door, but the adrenaline is running high. She’s damn tired of dancing around and doubting herself. She’s likely about to make herself miserable, but then Killian is opening the door and standing in front of her in nothing but a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants.

“Swan, what are you – ”

And then she kisses him.


	10. Chapter Ten

_“So,” he starts as Emma clasps her bra and adjusts the straps until they’re in place, “that was – ”_

_“A one-time thing,” she quickly says, not allowing him to finish. “I’m not interested in anything more.”_

_  
  
“Aye, neither am I.”_

_It’s been awhile since a had a one-night stand. They used to be more common for him, even if they did usually turn into month-long flings, but not so much lately. Tonight is an outlier, a what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas kind of cliché, and no matter how much he’d like to pull Emma back into bed with him for another round, she seems ready to go._

_Good. That’s likely for the best for both of them._

_No strings attached._

_“Good. We’re in agreement then. Thanks for the – ”_

_“The best orgasm of your life?”  
  
_

_Emma throws her head back with laughter, her tangled hair cascading down, and she quickly brushes through it with her fingers. God, her hair was soft. “Don’t flatter yourself. It was good, but I’m not giving you the best title.”_

_She reaches down and grabs her leggings, and he decides he should get dressed, too, pulling his jeans back on. “You going to give me another chance to try to take that top spot?”_

_“Huh. You wish.”_

_“I obviously do.”_

_She’s got to be one more cheeky statement away from slapping him._

_They both keep getting dressed, falling silent in their conversation, and then all of the sudden they’re standing in front of his hotel room door. When did they move? Maybe the champagne affected him a little more than he thought if time is blurring together like that._

_“What do you think you’re doing?” Emma rasps._

_“Going down to the casino.”_

_“You can’t go to the casino. I’m going to the casino.”_

_“It’s a big city, love. I imagine we can both go. There is quite the selection of casinos.”_

_“I’m going to this one, though. I do not want to have to go to another hotel when I have a bed here.”_

_“Well, then, I guess we’ll have to manage to share the same space. We’ve been sharing a rather close space for the past hour, so I think we’ll be right as rain.”_

_Her eyes roll, and she quickly turns away, grabbing the rest of her belongings and opening his door. Killian follows, keeping his distance behind her, but they easily fall in step with each other. It’s weird walking with her now, hostility running between the two of them in the very hallway where she practically had her hand down his pants an hour ago. Killian tries not to think about it, to think about how damn good that felt and how frustrating it is to have Emma be so put off by him now._

_This woman doesn’t make any sense._

_Then again, who spends time together after a one-night stand? You either get up and leave right afterward, sneak away in the middle of the night, or have awkward conversation in the morning. Or possibly morning sex, but that’s the best case scenario._

_They’re having awkward conversation right now. He should have stayed in the room. Instead he’s standing in an elevator with the woman he just fucked, and he’s never felt quite so claustrophobic._

_As soon as the doors open, he’s going in the opposite direction of her. That’ll fix all of these problems._

_“Hey,” someone yells when the doors open, “you two got married earlier!”_

_“Wrong people,” Emma mumbles as she steps out of the elevator._

_“No, no, it was the two of you,” another girl says. It’s an entire group of them, all in matching outfits. Bloody hell. It’s a bachelorette party. Why do women insist on dressing alike when someone is getting married? “You had on the most gorgeous dress. It made me want to throw out my dress and buy a new one.”_

_“Oh, don’t say that. Your dress is gorgeous.”_

_“But it wasn’t like hers!”_

_“Yours is better. No offence.”_

_“None taken,” Emma laughs, looking over at him and smiling before quickly turning away and crossing her arms over her chest. Well, at least she smiled. “I’m sure your dress is gorgeous.”_

_“Thank you. I’m Anna, by the way. Can we buy you two some drinks? We’ve got a package with the hotel, and I’d just love to hear a little about the wedding.”_

_“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma begins, nibbling on her lip. “I, we – ”_

_“That sounds great, Anna,” he interrupts. “Emma and I would love that.”_

_He knows Emma is shooting daggers at him with her eyes, and honestly, he doesn’t blame her. He’s just roped them into spending more time together as well as spending time with an overenthusiastic bachelorette party. If the woman didn’t already dislike him for everything outside of sex, she’d hate him now._

_But honestly, it’s not bad. The women are nice, if not a bit loud, and he and Emma manage to string together some kind of fake story about their wedding and their courtship. Neither of them discussed actually telling them the truth, but he has a feeling they would all be absolutely devastated if they learned the truth. They’re very much a group who are in love with love, and if the drinks they’re getting weren’t so damn strong, he’d be bitter about it and say something about being engaged not being all it’s cracked up to be._

_He couldn’t tell anyone what marriage is like. But engagement? He knows enough about that, and his certainly wasn’t like this._

_“Do you want another one?” Emma asks him._

_“Aye.”_

_She raises her hand over the bar, her sweater rising to show off her toned stomach, and orders them two more drinks. They might as well take advantage of the free drinks while they’re here._

_“So, how long are we going to keep telling these women that we’re married?” she asks as she takes another sip of her drink. It’s mostly ice now, but she can’t seem to stop. “As long as we’re getting free drinks? Does that make us horrible people?”_

_“It makes us opportunists.”_

_Her eyes roll. “If it wasn’t one in the morning, I would probably protest.”_

_“It’s a good thing it’s one in the morning then, isn’t it, love?”_

_The drinks keep flowing as they move away from the bar and move toward the casino, spreading out to slot machines and poker tables. It’s been awhile since he played. Liam used to love the game, and everything Killian knows about it is from him. That’s a good thing when Killian starts winning a little money. It’s not such a great thing when security comes over because they suspect he might be counting cards._

_His brain is not functional enough to count cards right now._

_He’s definitely drunk. He knows that he is, and at some point today he should have had a little more water. This has not been his most well thought through day._

_“Who knew you were such a rebel, nearly getting kicked out of a casino?” Emma asks, walking up to him and poking him in the chest after security finally lets him go. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”_

_“Darling, you barely know me.”_

_“True,” she slurs. “What do you say we get out of here since I don’t think security is going to let you keep playing?”_

_She stumbles, just briefly, and Killian grabs her waist, squeezing her hips. “I thought you said you didn’t want to leave the hotel.”_

_“Did I?”_

_“I think so.”_

_“Huh. Well, I’ve never been to Vegas. I’d like to explore. C’mon, Jones. Let’s go. It’s not like you have anything better to do.”_

_“No, love, I suppose I don’t.”_

_One minute he’s standing in the middle of the casino floor only inches away from Emma, and the next they’re walking hand in hand around the Venetian as Killian weaves some kind of story about how they’d tell Anna and her friends that they honeymooned in Italy and how they would absolutely eat that story up. He keeps thinking this isn’t real, that Emma shouldn’t still be standing next to him and that this is all a dream fueled by their sex, but she feels real._

_She is definitely real._

_And he’s very aware of how she’s clinging onto him in the small room that they’re in._

_Wait. Weren’t they just outside? They were. They were also thinking about getting a gondola to ride, but now all of the sudden they’re in a room with the two of them, a few other people, and an Elvis impersonator._

_What the fuck?_

_“You may now kiss your bride.”_

_Killian looks at Elvis before looking at Emma, and all the sudden he remembers walking into this chapel and remembers that he and Emma are getting married. She’s so pretty like this, her smile so bright, and he can’t quite believe she agreed to marry him. He thought he already had the one woman who would say yes to marrying him, but she eventually changed her mind. Now he’s got another chance._

_This is a bloody brilliant idea._

_Quickly, Killian bends his knees and dips his head down until his mouth is pressing against Emma’s._

-/-

Emma Swan is kissing him.

_Emma. Swan. Is. Kissing. Him._

Killian knows how she kisses. He remembers how she moves her lips and how she knows how to perfectly move between aggressive and careful, and he knows that’s exactly what she’s doing right now.

The thing is, he can’t quite believe it’s real.

That she’s real.

He hasn’t seen her in two weeks. The Academy has been kicking his ass six ways to Sunday, and all he’s done is go to training, come home to eat and study, fall asleep, and then wake up and do it all again. He’s been awful at keeping up with his relationships and with his runs with Emma, and he kept meaning to call her. It was killing him that he kept blowing her off, but then he’d get called away and the thought would slip his mind.

How could Emma Swan have ever slipped his mind?

That’s something he’s been asking himself for months now as he desperately tries to remember every single detail of the day they met and the hours following. Only bits and pieces have come back after they slept together, and as much as he wants to know what happened, maybe it’s better if he never remembers.

Maybe it’s better if he leaves in the here and now because Emma is doing this particularly delicious thing with her tongue that has his heart pounding. 

This is about the last thing he ever expected to happen when he told her they were married and that they’d need an annulment.

God, they were supposed to go out to celebrate the annulment.

Emma starts to move away, her mouth fleetingly leaving his, but he doesn’t let her, wrapping one arm around her back and pulling her toward him while his other hand grabs onto her ponytail and gently tilts her head in the way that he wants to. She got to kiss him the way she wanted, and he damn well intends to get the same opportunity.

Now that the initial shock of her being here is over, now that he knows with complete certainty that this is real, he can feel the softness of her lips and the glorious way that her breasts press into his chest. He’s felt all of these things before, but it wasn’t like this. The last time was different. It was in a buzzed haze of lust and champagne, and while he feels the slightest buzz now, it’s nothing that would make him forget.

How could he ever again?

“Emma,” he whispers as he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers while they both pant, trying to catch their breaths, “what’s happening?”

And then he’s being shoved backward until he’s stumbling back into his apartment and Emma is following behind him. She’s strong, but she shouldn’t have been able to shove him backward as much as she did. Then again, showing up and kissing the holy hell out of him is the exact way to catch him off guard so that he’d stumble over practically anything.

What the hell is happening?

Now that he’s looking at her, he can see the fury in her eyes and the way that her hair is falling out of her ponytail. She’s covered in a light sheen of sweat, and when he looks down at her feet, he sees that she’s in her running shoes.

In the weirdest way, he’s missed those shoes.

_She ran here._

“It takes five seconds to text,” Emma pants. His body is having a difficult time ignoring the rasp of her voice and the sweat on her skin, especially as it trickles down between her breasts. “It takes five seconds for you to tell me whatever the hell has been going on that you haven’t been able to go on our runs or get dinner or do whatever the hell it is that we do. Because do you know how it looks to me when I tell you about how shitty people have treated me only for you to practically disappear the next day? Do you know how shitty it felt to get our annulment papers and then have you disappear? Because I thought – I thought we – ”

“We did. We do.”

Her brows shoot to her hairline. “We what?”

Killian takes a step forward, close enough to grab Emma’s hand, but he doesn’t. “We were friends. Are. We are friends, love. I also thought that we might possibly be more. You kissing me kind of confirms that for me.”

Her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of red, and the corners of Killian’s lips tug up. He bets she hates herself for blushing right now. “I’ve kissed you before. You don’t know that it means something.”

Impossible. She’s absolutely impossible.

He rather likes that about her. Quite a lot actually. Definitely more than he ever expected to when he met her.

Definitely more than he ever expected to like anyone again.

“I do.”

“How?”

He braves the next step and moves closer to her, tucking a lose strand of her hair behind her ear. She doesn’t move away, and he has to hold in his exhale of relief.

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. You make me sure of things I’d otherwise be unsure of, and you give me hope I haven’t felt in a long time.”

Her eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them, and unlike so many other days in his life where there’s nothing extraordinary happening, he knows that this is one that could change so much. “Your eyes are so beautiful, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like them before.”

“Do lines like that work on all of the girls?”

“I really only care if they work on you.” Emma huffs, and Killian dips his head down to hover his lips directly over Emma’s. He can feel her breath and the heat of her body. He can feel _everything_. “I’ve been having my ass kicked by training. I’m so exhausted day in and day out that I barely remember to eat. Not being able to run with you, not being able to have you take the piss out of me over my smoothie choices, has been torture. I didn’t want to leave you when the papers came in. I – ”

For the second time in five minutes, Emma slams her lips into his. She’s a force of nature, this one, and he’s not sure what to do.

Well, besides kiss her.

He’s completely blindsided by her being here, by her doing this, and somewhere in a small corner of his mind, he knows they should talk. He’s been burned enough times by physical relationships that he knows exactly how things like this go, but this isn’t that. This is a bloody confusing relationship that he couldn’t put into words if he tried.

“Are we – ”

“Yes.”

“Do you – ”

“Yes.”

Killian laughs into Emma’s mouth as she pushes him back into his apartment, his feet nearly tripping over Will’s bloody out of place shoes. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Emma stops kissing him, pulling back as he chases her lips, but he stops right before he captures them once more. “You were going to ask if we were going to have sex.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner. A man likes to be courted.”

Her brow raises. “Are you serious?”

It’s nearly impossible for him to hold back his laugh. “Swan, there is literally nothing in the world I want more right now than to have you, but I need you to know that this isn’t going to be just sex for me, not like it was the first time. I know you now. I know the sound of your laugh and how you act when you don’t have coffee or food. I know, well, I know you more than I think either of us expected to get to know each other, and I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

He knows Emma well enough to know there’s a chance she’s about to walk back out his front door, but saying that was worth the risk. He doesn’t want to start something that’s going to end up hurting them both.

God, he should have found the time to call her this week. And last week. He’s got to apologize to her again.

Her chest heaves, the sweat there beginning to dry, and she opens her mouth only to snap it closed. “It’s not going to be a one-time thing. It means more to me now, too.”

“Good.”

He can’t seem to stray far from Emma, his hands running along the sides of her neck before falling down to her arms, and the way she’s working a spot on his neck is absolutely divine. She’s intoxicating, and every breath is not enough. That should terrify him. Hell, it should have him running out his own front door. This spark that runs hotly between them isn’t entirely new to him, and the last time it blew up in his face.

This has all the potential to do the same.

Or not.

“Is Will home?” Emma murmurs as they walk back toward his bedroom.

“At work.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want him walking out of his room and seeing this.”

  
  
“It’d be quite the show.”

Emma pushes against his chest, but he easily grabs her waist and turns her around until he’s the one guiding her. She didn’t know where they were going anyway, was simply aimlessly guiding him until his back hit a wall and until her sweatshirt was left on the hallway floor. There’s so much happening right now that reminds him of their night in Vegas – the fumbling with clothes and heated kisses against walls as heat continues to simmer below his skin – but he knows this is different.

She knows it, too, which may be the best part of all.

A lifetime ago, he’d have despised himself for thinking things like that when a woman was undressing in front of him, but that was the past. This here and now? It’s better.

They’ve made it to his bedroom now, and his heart beats in a heavy pattern while his erection is tenting his sweatpants. It’s incredibly uncomfortable at this point, but he doesn’t intend to rush this. Not when things are so tentative and not when he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. 

“Darling, I don’t think that’s the way you’re supposed to say those words in this particular situation. It’s supposed to sound a tad more…pleasant.”

“I can’t get my damn sports bra off.”

  
  
“What?” Killian laughs, backing away from her to look at her as she tugs on her bra.

“I’m sweaty. Or, like, I was. I literally ran here. I can’t fucking get it off.”

His laughter keeps bubbling in his chest, mixing in with the heat between his legs and his focus on getting some kind of relief, but Emma is standing in his bedroom, half-naked, and she can’t get her damn bra off.

“I am probably the sexiest woman you’ve ever slept with, right?”

“Aye,” Killian says, completely serious. He steps forward and leans down to press his lips to her collarbone as he tugs the material of her bra up. It is stuck, but with a little willpower, he pulls it up and off of Emma until it’s falling to the ground so that she’s bare to him. “You are.”

Her cheeks flush red, and that flush moves down toward her breasts. It’s a beautiful sight with which he cannot wait to become more acquainted. 

“Shut up and get on the bed.”

“So demanding, lass.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I ran a few miles to get here, and I think I’m running on limited time before my body decides to stop working.”

“I haven’t slept more than four hours a night in two weeks.”

“So this is about to be really good sex then?”

  
“Aye, absolutely.”

Emma falls back onto the bed, and Killian cages her in, moving his mouth of hers and licking into her mouth while his fingers trail down her body, one hand palming her breast while the other finds the slickness between her thighs. He groans at the feeling, at knowing this is for him, and it doesn’t take long before her thighs are quivering from his ministrations. She’s very nearly there, her back arched off the bed, and this is better than any and all of his memories.

“Condom,” Emma pants. “Get a fucking condom.”

“I – ”

“Please do not make the joke I know you’re going to make.”

Killian huffs and curls his fingers inside of her once more before pulling out and leaving a soft kiss to her inner thigh, watching as her skin twitches with his touch. He quickly gets the condom from the box in his bedside drawer, rolling it on and wondering why the hell that takes so long, before he moves to hover over Emma again. She doesn’t let him, though, encouraging him to lay on his back as she straddles his hips and curls her fingers into his chest hair.

“This is a new side of you, love.”

“I’ve got a few of those.”

He arches a brow. “Really, now?”

“Hold your horses, tiger. One at a time. I’m not some kind of contortionist energizer bunny.”

He bites his cheek, a comeback on the tip of his tongue, but then Emma is guiding him into her, the warmth of her surrounding him, and all of the breath leaves his body at the feel of her.

_Bloody hell._

He can already feel his release licking at his spine, but it’s too soon. There’s so much left to be done, and he’s not some teenage boy who’s going to fall apart at first touch.

Emma looks ethereal above him, even under the harsh lighting of his bedroom, and he watches as her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks and a smile curves at her lips. And then she starts moving. It’s slow and steady at first, the both of them testing each other out, but then his hands grab onto her hips and she really starts moving.

It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before.

  
  
“You’re absolutely everything,” he breathes. “Bloody magnificent.”

“Killian, I – ”

He nods and leans up to wrap his arms around her back, pulling her toward him so their chests brush together, and then he’s carefully flipping them around, slipping out of her for a moment before slamming back in. They’re both almost there, bodies shaking and breaths gone, and he’s purposeful with his thrusts and with the way he moves his hand where they’re joined until Emma sucks in a sharp breath and begins to fall, becoming more glorious by the second. He works her through it, letting her wide out the waves, but then he starts fucking her in earnest until his own release is thrumming at the base of his spine and working through him.

Killian collapses on top of her, crushing her with his weight before propping himself up on his elbows so he can look down at her and the absolutely goofy grin on her face. He’d like to see that more often.

“Better than the first time, aye?”

Emma laughs and reaches up to push his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. “It’s not a competition, but yeah, better than the first.”

Killian huffs and falls to her side, quickly pulling off the condom and tying it before dumping it into the trash. “You should show up to my apartment more often then.”

Emma turns on the bed and reaches around to pull the comforter up over her. He grabs it and helps tug it up over both of them while Emma inches closer to him, leaning down and kissing his collarbone. He could go again if his body would let him, the adrenaline giving him more energy than he’s had in weeks, but it’s not going to last long.

“Was it really just that you were busy?” Emma asks. “It wasn’t – ”

Killian adjusts his arm under her shoulder and trails his fingers down her back while his other hand tries to smooth back some of her hair. “I should have made time for you. I wanted to. I will from now on. Love, I promise that it wasn’t because the annulment papers came in. I, well…”

“What?”

“I was happy when they came in. It felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders, but a part of me was also terrified that you’d have nothing to do with me now that we had no reason to still be talking.”

Emma’s lips fall open before snapping shut. “I felt the same way.”  
  


“Yeah?”

She nods her head, looking at him with a small smile, before letting her head fall back against the pillow. Their noses are so close they’re almost touching.

The freckles on her cheeks are mesmerizing.

“If you haven’t worn me out, because I definitely plan on the two of us doing that again, I will go running with you in the morning.”

“What about training? Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Aye, but I think I’ll be able to survive. I’m a survivor, Swan. I also think I owe you a smoothie.”

“You owe me about ten smoothies.”

Killian chuckles and closes his eyes before opening them back up to the brilliant shade of green of Emma’s eyes. “I think I can handle that.”

“So, Jones,” she whispers, her own lips threatening to turn into a smile far brighter than the small one she’s been keeping since they started talking in the afterglow of it all, “I think we should go on a date.”

His brow arches. He wasn’t expecting that. He should have been, but they’re all sorts of messy right now. He’s not even exactly sure what he should be expecting when it comes to Emma.

He can’t wait to find out.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking you out?”

“You are so old-fashioned.”

“Now, darling, I believe I fucked you, married you, annulled that marriage, fucked you again, and then agreed to date you. In that order. What could possibly be old-fashioned about that?”

Emma chuckles and leans forward to kiss him again. He wants to get used to that. “Did you agree to me asking you out? I don’t remember hearing that.”

Her eyes roll. She’s exasperated by him, but it’s not like it was at the beginning. It’s not true annoyance. It’s something entirely different.

Better.

Definitely, definitely better.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Emma Swan.”

“Good.”

-/-

-/-

They get married three years later.

It’s pouring down rain, a July storm coming in and surprising everyone, and Killian can barely hear David officiating the ceremony over the sound of the water hitting the ground around him and flooding into the Charles river. They wanted to do it by the damn bench that’s paint was messed up from the man sitting on wet paint all those years ago, had planned on it for a few weeks now, only to show up today and find that the city had finally fixed the bench after three years of it being messed up.

All of the signs were there for them to cancel these plans. There’s no special meaning to today, simply a date they picked on the calendar that was close enough to the day they met and fit their schedules, and they could have changed it when they found out it was going to rain.

Emma didn’t want to.

He didn’t either.

Killian’s wearing his dress uniform, and Emma has on a short, emerald green dress that hugs her curves and is driving him mad every time he looks at her. They were already dressed when it started pouring, and they both pretty much said what the hell. Why not? That’s kind of been their motto through the whole thing. 

They’re both wearing wellies. 

As are all of their friends.

They look ridiculous. He knows that they do, but he wouldn’t have it any other way when it comes to the love of his life and her happiness.

Neither of them ever wanted to legitimately get married, not after everything, but it’s funny how things change when you find the right person who’s willing to wade deep into the waters of life with you.

It’s funny how things change when you meet a woman whose eyes are another kind of green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, friends! 
> 
> It was a really fun one to write after I got past that initial hurdle of "how the heck do I make this entire thing work." 😉 ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr over at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com)! Drop on by!


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